Reconciliation: Sequel to Eclipse
by Aconitum-Napellus
Summary: Spock/Chapel. Mature Content. Some time after being blinded on the Enterprise, when Spock arrives to visit his parents on Vulcan he does not expect to be plunged into talks at the Science Academy that are rapidly becoming violent.
1. Chapter 1

1

Commander Spock of the USS _Enterprise_ was not usually a nervous man. His Vulcan genealogy and upbringing, his rigorous Starfleet training, the many dangerous situations he had been in through the years, all combined to make him a stoic, unemotional, unflappable individual. However, for all the nerve-wracking situations he had been in, none had been such a test as this.

It was over seven months since a terrorist explosion on the USS _Enterprise_ had taken his sight, and five since he and McCoy had devised a way of breaking down the blinding barrier of pigmented cells in his eyes. Now he saw patches of blurred light fragmenting the blackness, shades of colour only slightly darkened by the cells. It was a relief, he admitted, to be slowly regaining the sight that he thought he would never recover.

In all of this time, Spock had only spoken to his parents through the ship's communication system - short conversations in which neither of his parents, his stoical Vulcan father or his more emotional human mother, had known quite what to say. Now he stood outside the high gate to his family home on Vulcan, eyes taking in the blurred colour of light red walls merging seamlessly into dark red sky, with his hand hesitating on the catch.

But delay was useless. He could not turn back. He was not sure that he could navigate his way back along the streets to the shuttle station, and he definitely could not return to the ship to tell his captain he did not have the courage to open a gate. Vulcans had no pride to bruise, but he had his dignity, and the teasing comments from Captain Kirk and Chief Medical Officer McCoy, though friendly, would be near impossible to endure.

Spock pushed the light gate open with one hand, and felt ahead with his cane, probing in the darkness that encircled and merged into the small field of colour. The stone-flagged path had not changed. He walked through the garden taking in all the familiar scents of the dry-climate plants around him, scents that almost obliterated the smell of sun-hardened earth from outside the walls. Then the cane jarred on stone in front of him, and he stepped up onto the doorstep and touched the doorchime, finding it under his palm by instinct alone.

There was a moment of silence, then a flurry of steps from inside, and the door swung open almost silently. He felt a surge of warm relief at the familiar voice that greeted him.

'Spock! I had no idea you were - It's been so long... Oh, Spock...'

His mother's arms encircled him, drawing him into a tight hug in which he was surrounded by not only her arms, but also her familiar scent and the mixture of her feelings. For once he did not resist that so-human display of emotion. He lightly touched her back with his own palms, then stepped back as she released him, picking up the luggage he had dropped at her hug.

There was a hesitation, and he could feel his mother looking beyond his shoulder. 'Did you come here alone?'

'I took the public shuttle, and then a cab to the gate,' Spock nodded, allowing himself to feel a sense of achievement at the journey he had just completed. It had taken three connections from a Federation Starbase to get to Vulcan on transport ships, and although it had been difficult he was grateful now that he had declined Captain Kirk's suggestion of taking an ensign with him.

'How long do you want to stay? Sarek has no appointments off world - we're hoping to spend at least six months here.'

'I know my arrival is unexpected,' Spock apologised. 'I was granted a month's leave without notice, and was not able to contact you. I will have three weeks here, at most. If my stay becomes inconvenient, I shall find a hotel.'

'Of course it won't be inconvenient. I'm so glad to see you, Spock,' Amanda said earnestly. 'I've been waiting so long for you to visit. It took all of your father's diplomatic skills to persuade me from coming to the ship.' She took his bag from him, then touched his arm with her hand. 'Come on in.'

Spock stepped up into the house with his mother's hand anxiously guiding him. The blur of colour faded as he went out of the sun, but he was stepping into a place so familiar that he didn't need to see. He could quote the exact distance and bearing to the door of his room without thinking about it, and name every book in the bookshelves without seeing the titles. Even the smell was so familiar it was like putting on an old cloak.

'Is Sacha not with you?' Amanda asked, looking down at her son's side for the guide dog he had told her about.

Spock shook his head. 'I have left her on the ship in the care of a fellow officer - she could not stand the Vulcan heat.' He flexed his hand, where the handle of the harness should have been. 'I confess I feel slightly lost without her by my side.'

'She must be a good dog,' Amanda smiled.

'Her aid is invaluable. Shall we go into the sitting room?' he asked, but he heard the muffled voices from the room almost at the same moment his mother spoke.

'Spock, we have visitors - it's a delegation from the academy - they're talking about admitting more students from other planets.'

'If it is a business meeting, I shall go to my room until they are gone,' Spock said, turning towards the familiar path to his bedroom.

'Spock, they're staying here,' Amanda said softly.

Spock turned around sharply, trying not to show his dismay. He had hoped for a quiet few weeks alone with his parents, the first time he had been with them since he had been blinded in the fierce explosion on his ship. Instead he would have to put up with making polite conversation with people he didn't know.

'They're all teachers from outshoots of the academy in remote areas,' his mother explained. 'They're being brought together to make the discussions easier - there are no spare rooms at the academy, so we're putting them up here. Your room's empty, though.'

'Then I should go to my room anyway,' Spock said quietly. 'I have no part in the discussions, and I'm sure that Sarek's guests will have little interest in a starship officer.'

He began to turn back towards the corridor, but a door opened, and Spock knew immediately that it was his father standing there. Seeing his mother after all that had happened had proved surprisingly easy – he was not sure that things would be as simple with his father, however.

'Amanda, do we have a visitor?' Sarek asked, then said, 'Spock, I did not expect you.' The slight falter in his voice told Spock how taken aback he was.

'I had no chance to call,' Spock said flatly. Now there was no chance of simply disappearing to his room, or talking privately to his mother. Every stranger in the house knew he was here, and it would be unthinkable not to greet the guests of his family.

'Spock, you don't have to see them,' Amanda said almost under her breath.

Sarek stayed diplomatically silent. Spock knew what he was expected to say.

'Mother, I cannot ignore your guests. It would not reflect well on the family for you to have a son who ignores common courtesy.'

'We are in the sitting room, Spock,' Sarek told him, touching his arm. 'Do you require guidance? How do I guide you?'

'Simply let me take your arm,' Spock said calmly, putting his hand to the soft, thick fabric of Sarek's sleeve. There was a barely perceptible tension in Sarek's arm as Spock touched it. He had never seen his father so nervous.

'Come then,' Sarek said, and Spock followed him through into the room. Sarek announced, 'Our son, Spock. Spock, may I introduce Professor T'Kal, and Doctors T'Ahnu, T'Mir, Stalan and Seren.'

Spock committed the names to memory, sweeping his eyes over the blurred room. He knew even out in the bright sunlight he would not be able to make out individual people, but in here he could barely even see colour. He bowed his head briefly, saying politely, 'I am honoured to meet you.'

'T'Mir is your cousin, by the third generation,' Sarek added. 'I do not think you have met.'

'No, we have not,' Spock nodded, mildly interested at this development. He had heard the name, of course, as he had heard the names of many of his relatives, but Vulcans rarely socialised with those out of the direct family line merely for the sake of shared blood.

'There's room on the couch, Spock,' Amanda said from behind him, gently steering him towards the seat. Spock would normally have resisted being manoeuvred in such a way, but there would be plenty of time for instructing his parents on such things.

'Thank you, mother,' he said, sitting down in the empty seat.

'I am Dr T'Mir,' the person beside him said - a young woman's voice, maybe about his own age. The couch creaked as she leaned back beside him. She smelt very faintly of roses and greenery - she had been in his mother's garden. 'I feel honoured to finally meet you, Commander Spock.'

Spock nodded in acknowledgement of her statement. The fact that she had deliberately used the word *_feel*_ shed an intriguing light on his cousin's personality.

'You have not met the others before?' she asked in a low tone.

Spock shook his head.

'The man speaking at present is Stalan,' T'Mir told him. 'He is the consort of Professor T'Kal. They are on opposing sides,' she said, and there was hint of amused irony in her voice.

Spock listened to the hard, firm voice droning on about the problems posed by foreign students on Vulcan, and was struck immediately, and quite illogically, by the feeling that he did not like this man.

'Stalan is extremely dedicated,' T'Mir told him.

'He does seem so,' Spock nodded.

Spock listened to the five guests debating endlessly for hours - three of them for foreign students on Vulcan, the other two opposed. Stalan was almost violently opposed, and yet his consort T'Kal was a lively, intelligent woman arguing strongly for the cultural benefits that foreign students would bring to Vulcan. Spock wondered what the two would ever speak about together, they were so different - maybe this was what his relationship would be if the icily logical T'Pring had accepted him.

Doctor T'Ahnu's voice was full of a dignity and confidence that few Vulcans younger than Spock's father achieved - indeed, she sounded at least fifty years older than Sarek. Her only reasons for not wanting alien students were presented as perfectly logical ones - firstly that their emotional, unguarded minds would upset the Vulcan students, and secondly that the academy was already crowded, with long waiting lists, and as the standard for admission was high even for Vulcans, few mentally inferior aliens could take the pressure. Her third objection was that the academy and surroundings would become rife with crime and fighting between illogical, emotional and unprincipled aliens. Spock found her views prejudicial and xenophobic, but it was not surprising in older Vulcans, less used to such full contact with alien societies.

T'Mir contributed little to the discussion, but Spock had already surmised that she was for admission. He spoke quietly to her through the evening, listening to the other Vulcans' arguments without commenting. Being part of two cultures himself, he did not want to enter an dispute which would tear his loyalties apart. The more he listened to T'Ahnu speak about the destructiveness of alien minds, the more he could feel the red blood in his own veins - he distinctly got the impression that she was looking at him pointedly as she spoke. Amanda seemed to be taking it all with amazing diplomacy, quietly pointing out that humans had their merits as well as their bad features.

Finally Spock got to his feet, shaking out his cane. 'Excuse me,' he said. 'The journey here was tiring. I must retire.'

Two people got to their feet as he stood, and he knew instantly that they were Amanda and Sarek.

'Do you need help, Spock?' his mother asked, carefully controlling the anxiety in her voice.

'No, thank you, mother. I can find my way alone.'

He left the room to find the peace of the empty corridor outside, and spent a moment remembering the dimensions of this house he had not been in for more than a year. He walked along the corridors, grateful that his parents had never found clutter agreeable. There was very little chance of finding something in his way.

He felt the soft breeze of outside as he neared the garden doors, and smelt the scents of Amanda's carefully nurtured garden. The warm fragrance of roses drifted up to surround him almost tangibly. It was dark outside now, but in some ways the total darkness was easier to move in than the deceptive blur. He found the ancient stone meditation bench with the ease of years of memory and sank down on it, absorbing the stillness of the Vulcan night. He reached out to his left and touched the soft leaves and even softer petals of a rose blossom. Just that movement sent an extra burst of fragrance into the air. Then he withdrew his hand and closed his eyes, slipping himself into the quiet of his own mind.

He had been sunk in the calm of meditation for a long time, and was slowly rising from the detached depths as he heard footsteps approaching down the cool corridor. The doors swung open almost silently. He had expected it to be his mother who came out to be with him, but the footsteps down the path were the long paces of a man. Although he had been separated from his parents for so long, he could still instantly recognise his father through the psionic bond that held all Vulcan families together.

Sarek sat down silently at the other end of the bench. Spock could hear him breathing in slowly, taking in the scent of the plants as Spock had. Eventually Sarek said;

'Your mother has always had a natural talent for horticulture.'

'Yes,' Spock nodded. 'I have noticed the scents of some new plants.'

There was a pause, then Sarek said, 'Amanda has planted some aromatic and pleasantly textured shrubs recently. A number of herbs from earth, some Organian orange-leaves, a native bi'ansin tree.'

Spock turned his head toward Sarek. 'Since I informed you of my blindness?'

'Yes.'

Spock nodded, and silence fell again. He could hear his father breathing, and the slight movements he made on the bench, the soft noise of his clothing. Combining with the familiar scent of his father was a faint scent of his mother's perfume, as if she had brushed against him at some time.

'Are there any adjustments that you will need about the house during your stay, Spock?' Sarek asked finally.

Spock considered the question. 'After a few days I will become familiar with the present organisation of the house, and I will be able to navigate without my cane. I can only ask that objects are not left out on the floor, and that nothing is moved in my room. It is a help when my surroundings are predictable.'

'Of course,' Sarek nodded.

'One other thing,' Spock said, allowing himself an almost imperceptible wry smile. 'It is best if doors are kept either fully open or closed – if they are left half open, I tend to find myself walking into them, which is inconvenient, to say the least.'

'Yes, I imagine so,' Sarek said dryly. 'I will let the household know your requests.'

'Thank you, father.'

'Spock... I regret that you were blinded,' Sarek said slowly, as if even that was too much an admission of feeling.

'I am used to it now,' Spock reminded him. 'It is part of my life.'

'Yes. However, I was - relieved - when you informed us of the treatment.'

'As was I,' Spock admitted, remembering the bursting of emotions that he had held firmly hidden when he realised that he was really seeing light after weeks living under the sentence of life-long darkness. 'I was quite gladdened by the discovery.' He felt no risk at that statement. Sarek seemed in the mood tonight to accept emotional statements rather than to disapprove and censure.

'Is the treatment an ongoing process?' Sarek asked as if he had not heard Spock's last words. 'Will you be visiting a doctor here on Vulcan?'

Spock shook his head. 'The equipment needed for the treatment is quite specialised – the _Enterprise _has one of the few devices in existence, and there are certainly none on Vulcan. We could not procure a license to transport equipment that makes use of disrupter rays.'

'Then you are going without treatment.'

'Yes. I should receive the treatment every three days but obviously I cannot at the moment. Each treatment I miss extends the period of visual impairment since the cells tend to regrow spontaneously. I brought a number of slides of the cells in my eyes with me, Sarek. I thought that you might be interested in them.'

'I would certainly be interested in inspecting them.'

Spock reached into his pocket and brought out a small box. He felt briefly over the label on the lid, then held it out to Sarek.

Sarek took the box, curiosity making him run his fingers over the label as Spock had. The small bumps were distinctive while he could see them, but he could imagine the difficulty of reading them without sight.

'You do not use touch language,' he said.

'No. Braille is the standard tactile language of Starfleet. All of the equipment is made for Braille. I can read our touch language, but the millions of signs are too complicated for the equipment I have.'

'I see,' Sarek nodded. 'It must be difficult to travel without sight,' he said after a pause. The tone was that of a question.

'I would not recommend it to one unused to blindness – but the journey was manageable. I found the crews and passengers on all three ships most helpful. The most difficult periods are when one is alone in unfamiliar quarters.'

He cast his mind back over the journey, remembering the difficulty he had had on the first ship when, unused to the experience, he had not bothered to ask a crewmember to show him around his small quarters. In that ship simply finding the bathroom – behind a door set flush to the wall – had taken an hour of his time, and he had learnt not to repeat the necessity of finding the toilet with a fingertip search.

The silence stretched out again, then to his surprise he felt Sarek's fingers touching his, moving his hand into the warm palm touch that families often used at greetings and farewells. It was such a long time since he had touched his father's skin, and Sarek did not draw back from the touch after a few seconds. He could feel Sarek's ring on his third finger, the metal hot from his blood, and the pulsing of that blood in his fingertips, and the tiny electrical shivers of telepathic connection at the surface of his skin. Spock could not help but be intrigued by that connection. He had touched so many minds, but he not yet touched his own father's.

'You use this baton to aid your navigation?' Sarek asked, finally withdrawing from the touch. Spock could hear his father picking the cane up and unfolding it to its full length to examine it.

'Yes, when I do not have my dog with me. I have grown quite unused to using it since I have had Sacha. I admit I feel quite incapacitated without her.'

'Then the dog is more useful than this device?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'Far more useful. The cane can tell me how the ground surface will change a metre from my feet. Sacha can do that, and lead me along paths, remember routes, tell when a way is safe to cross.'

'I have been monitoring your progress on your ship since you told us of your blindness. Few Vulcans who lose their sight perform so well.'

'Perhaps a benefit of my human parentage,' Spock suggested lightly. He knew that Sarek was saying in a veiled way that he was proud of him. 'It is possible that my need to see does not extend to the vital requirement of most Vulcans.'

'Possible.'

After a long moment of silence, Spock asked, 'Sarek, have you eaten this evening?'

'Not yet.' Spock got the impression that he was smiling with his next words. 'I have not been given the chance by our guests - they ate before returning this evening, as did your mother.'

Spock nodded, then took his cane back from his father and got to his feet. 'Then would you like to accompany me to T'Shal's Restaurant in town? The air should stay warm for another few hours.'

'I will come,' Sarek nodded. 'I must inform Amanda.'

'I will meet you at the front gate,' Spock told him, shaking out his cane.

He went through the house and out to wait by the front gate. The walk into town would be useful to reinforce his memory of the surroundings, but it would also be good to take a walk in the Vulcan evening after so long on a sterile starship.

*******

'Tell me about the discussions,' Spock said as he walked with Sarek towards the centre of the town.

The old place smelt familiar, every warm breath of wind and slight muted noise combining to give an atmosphere of twilight that did not need to be seen. Every soft footfall, sweeping shuttle engine, snippet of murmured conversation, sounded undeniably Vulcan. Spock was glad that Vulcan sidewalks were predictable enough that he didn't have to cut into the quiet with the sharp tapping of his cane. He could rely on Sarek's arm for guidance, and not worry about ground variations, or draw attention to himself by the noise.

'Some time ago it was suggested in the monthly meetings that the Academy should select more non-Vulcans for entry. The Federation Council had questioned admittance rates at almost the same time as the internal processes perceived that there was a problem.'

'You believe that there is a problem?' Spock asked curiously.

'While I believe that Vulcans should not be overwhelmed by un-Vulcan principles, total isolation from other species can also be harmful. The IDIC notion holds as true today as ever.'

'That is fact,' Spock nodded. He was a walking example of infinite diversity in infinite combination - specifically the combination of worlds as diverse as Earth and Vulcan.

'Perhaps if the academy had simply lifted its acceptance quotas, no fuss would have been made - but they rightly chose to put it to discussion, and so we find ourselves in the present situation.'

'Which is?' Spock asked. Sarek had used hardly any inflection in his voice, but Spock could detect something sinister in his tone.

'The discussions are not running smoothly. They have necessitated a number of people lodging with others - as is the case in our house - so as to be able to attend late and early meetings. Discussions have been heated at times, and there have been threats.'

'Around the table?'

'No. Some members favouring alien admission have received warnings through their communication systems. Nothing has come of them, but it increases the tension in the debating room. The sense of trust has been damaged.'

'I see,' Spock nodded.

He carried on down the street in silence, hearing the echoes change minutely as they passed the wide square with its plants and water wells, and then back into the narrower streets of the restaurant quarter. After a while he asked, 'Where do you stand, Sarek?'

Sarek paused almost imperceptibly in his step, then continued onwards.

'We are approaching a kerb, Spock,' he said, slowing down as they reached it. He waited until they had crossed the street, then said, 'My position is not easy. As Ambassador, I am expected to protect Vulcan interests whilst maintaining amicable relationships with other worlds - therefore I support the admission of those alien students who merit places as long as Vulcan students do not suffer.'

Spock nodded. 'And personally?' he asked. He hoped the answer would be that Sarek was for admission. How else could he continue to walk along these streets walking so close to his father, touching his arm in a contact more personal than any he had experienced for over twenty years?

There was a long silence, then Sarek said, 'Some aliens can be disruptive, they can be dangerous, they can threaten our very way of life. However, it is generally agreed that it is education which lifts beings above disruptive and degenerate behaviour. To deny beings education because of the world they were born on or because of their genetic heritage would be to deny the Federation peace.'

'You support admission?'

'I support admission,' Sarek nodded.

'Dr T'Ahnu appears less amenable.'

'She is old. Her family is regal, and they have never been reconciled to the idea of out-worlders on our planet. It was an almost foregone conclusion that she would oppose admission with vigour.'

'I would assume she has high standing at the academy?'

'She is a teacher of five variations of historical physics, the head of the department of ancient science, and sits in the synod of governors.'

'I see,' Spock said with a sense of awe. Teaching just one subject at the academy was demanding enough. T'Ahnu was obviously as zealous in her job as she was in her political views.

'A small step up, Spock,' Sarek warned, turning to the right.

Spock could smell the delicately cooked traditional food of T'Shal's Restaurant as they turned in through an automatic door. He could sense mildly curious eyes following him briefly and then flicking away as patrons reacted to the rare sight of a blind Vulcan, and then realised that this was Spock, the half-human Starfleet officer who had been born in this town. Since Vulcans did not gossip, it would not be surprising if many had not heard the news that Starfleet's most famous Vulcan officer could no longer see.

'Do you wish me to read the menu?' Sarek asked as they sat.

'No need. I will have vorshak and salad.'

'For me too,' Sarek said, his voice angled upwards, and Spock realised that there was a waiter hovering over them with typical unobtrusiveness. 'And a carafe of mila juice for the table.'

'Your meal will take approximately eight minutes to prepare,' the waiter said smoothly, 'Do you wish the charge added to your account, Ambassador Sarek?'

'To mine,' Spock said as Sarek began to reply. 'Commander Spock, USS _Enterprise_. Thank you.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Perhaps you could tell me more about T'Mir, father,' Spock said as the waiter moved away. 'You say she is a cousin of the third generation?'

'She is descended from your great grandfather, and is a little more than ten years younger than you. Her mother was T'Phen, the commander of a vessel in the Vulcan space fleet. T'Phen was killed in an unprovoked Romulan attack near the neutral zone when her daughter was thirteen years of age. T'Mir has been active in the improvement of Vulcan-alien relations since that time.'

'I see,' Spock nodded. It was admirable to hear that his relation had turned such a negative event to such a positive quest. 'And she is - normal?' He hesitated to use that word, but it was the only way to express his interest in the subtle sense of emotion he felt from her, without directly asking if her discipline was well-formed.

'T'Mir was schooled as any other Vulcan,' Sarek replied levelly. 'I believe her mother's death affected her. Thirteen is a crucial age in any Vulcan's upbringing. She was never able to meld with her mother in order to cement the family bond. I believe that is something she regrets.'

_*As I missed my melding with you because of my entry into Starfleet*_, Spock thought silently. *_Something I also regret*._

'T'Mir is unusual in more ways than one,' Sarek continued, 'But I cannot say she has negative flaws. Her appearance and her attitude to life have simply held her rather separate from the people of our planet. To some she appears to be a little too sensitive, but the attitude seems to lend her grace.'

Spock nodded. He too had felt the odd warmth and gentleness from the woman, but felt attracted by it rather than repelled.

'You mentioned her appearance?'

'Yes - her eyes.' There was a short pause, then, 'I forget you could not see your cousin. Her eyes are copper-coloured - unusual, for a Vulcan.'

'Indeed,' Spock nodded. He tried to recall the last time he had seen copper-coloured eyes in a Vulcan - a musician in a traditional orchestra, who had looked at him with deep brown eyes so flecked with gold and copper they seemed to be made of metal. In the past, Vulcans with those eyes were almost invariably artists of some sort. He felt a dull sense of regret that he would not see the eyes of his cousin, or know the lines of her face. He would leave Vulcan before his sight returned, and probably would never have reason to visit the woman again.

But at that moment the scent of lightly cooked vegetables heralded the approach of their meal, and he leant back to allow the silent waiter to place the plate before him. It was of no use to regret not seeing T'Mir's face. It was, after all, just a face, and it was the person behind the face who intrigued him.


	2. Chapter 2

2

The following morning Spock woke surrounded by softness - a bed softer than his on the _Enterprise_ - and in a place that smelt distinctly different to the ship, but comfortingly familiar all the same. His inner clock told him indubitably that it was morning, but after the changes in time between the ship and Vulcan and without unpacking his speaking clock he wasn't certain of the hour. The noises from outside sounded calm and relaxed - there was no sandstorm or one of the sudden torrential downpours of rain that happened so occasionally here.

There was an intense patch of warmth shining onto his face, and when he turned his head he could see the bright glow of Vulcan's red sun in the window. The window must be open, for there was a slight breeze he did not remember feeling last night. Someone had been in, but not woken him up. Smells of native Vulcan plants drifted through the window, with sounds of animals almost forgotten. He lay in bed for a long minute, savouring the luxury of not having to get up immediately, absorbing the softness and scent of the Vulcan material that surrounded him. The warm reds and oranges of his room were relaxing to his eyes after the grey blurs of the ship.

There were sounds from another part of the house. He should get up and join his parents' guests. Spock got up out of his bed, and reached out to put his hands on the bedside cabinet, feeling the comforting grain of antique Vulcan wood - the familiar feeling of something that had been there every morning that he lived in this house. He was suddenly reassured that his room was there, unchanged, even though he could make out none of the details. The furniture in the house may be rearranged occasionally, but this was one room he didn't have to explore to feel at ease in.

He moved over to the window to take in the scent from outside, and as he stood there he thought he heard a sound outside other than the breeze - a long sound of air like someone breathing in deeply. He put his hands on the windowsill and leaned out slightly, listening.

'Is there someone there?' he asked.

There was no answer, and he told himself it had only been the wind. Even so, he decided it was best that the window was closed. As he reached up to find the catch he thought he detected a slight scent of sweat. He reached out with his mind, but sensed nothing.

'Is someone there?' he asked again. He closed and locked the window when again there was no reply, settling his concerns with the logic of probability. Any number of plants in the garden could have had that slight musky smell.

He sat back on the bed and felt for his case just under the frame. He opened it and felt the neatly folded clothes inside, wondering what to pick out to wear. Captain Kirk had practically forced him at phaser point to unpack the three changes of uniform he had put in, reminding him,_ *the point of a holiday, Spock, is to forget duty for a little while*_. He had indulged his friend's odd human ideas, and packed only non-uniform items. He had even left the ship in civilian clothes. Now, feeling through all the Braille description tags sewn inside the different collars and waistbands, he wished he had ignored him. It was far more simple to pull out his uniform and not have to concern himself with matching items that he could not see. Finally he settled on a simple two piece suit that was completely black, laid it out on his bed, then went through to the bathroom to indulge in a real, recycled water shower.

******

Spock could smell the scent of his mother as he entered the kitchen, and as his cane knocked on the doorframe he heard her turn from the food replicator and put crockery down on the worksurface.

'Spock, you're awake!' There was a pause, then, 'And looking as close to Starfleet as possible.'

'You do not approve of my choice of dress?' Spock asked, touching the soft front of the jacket with his fingers. It was always difficult choosing clothes for a sighted world, especially since more and more often he had never seen the clothes he was choosing.

'Of course I do, Spock. It's just it seems even when you're not in uniform, you *_are_* in uniform.'

'It is a fine morning,' Spock said, ignoring her baffling comment. Instead he went over to the wide kitchen window and let the heat spread over his face again. It felt good after the perpetual cold of the ship. 'I hope the plants are protected.'

'Sarek switched on the force field before I'd even woken up. It should keep the heat out of the garden. Spock...' She hesitated, then said, 'Spock, be careful. You're looking straight at the sun.'

Spock blinked at the red light, and narrowed his eyes. It did not bring the patch of brightness any more into focus.

'Is that the sun, mother? It does not seem bright enough.'

'Yes... Spock, you'll damage your eyes,' she said insistently.

'My inner eyelid – '

'Is not functional at the moment, if I understand your condition correctly.'

'True.'

Spock turned around to lean against the sill, and the heat caressed his back. He could smell the muffins that she had taken from the replicator. The warm scent reminded him of childhood. His mother must have cooked them for him, because he could not imagine many of the Vulcan guests partaking of them.

'Spock - ' She hesitated, then took a step closer. 'I'm sorry, Spock. I know that you must be used to blindness now. It's just, for me and Sarek, this is the first time we've seen you, apart from comm messages. You'll have to allow me some illogical human worry.'

'I am sorry that I did not visit when I attended the rehabilitation course here on Vulcan,' Spock said quietly. 'I simply did not have the time.'

'I know - I understand,' Amanda said, but Spock was aware of the hurt she had felt when she had learned that he had been to Vulcan and left again without contacting her.

'I - also did not want to come here while I was not competent to take care of myself,' he said softly. 'I did not want you to see me in such difficulty. I could not burden you with that.'

'Spock, you would never be a burden - ' his mother began.

Spock reached out with one hand, and her fingers touched his, cool to his Vulcan body temperature.

'I know, mother,' he said. 'We Vulcans often have our own brand of illogicallity. However, I may be needing some help during this visit. I do not have Sacha to guide me.'

'We'll always be here to help you,' she promised. 'How much do you see now, Spock?'

Spock narrowed his eyes, considering the blur before him. 'Not enough to distinguish individual objects. Depending on the light conditions I can see some colour changes, albeit dimly – such as the red of the sky in contrast to the light walls in this room. I see in a very narrow field which merges into darkness. I have no peripheral vision.'

'But if there are gaps in the pigment, I don't understand why don't you see anything with any clarity.'

Spock sighed softly at the frustration he heard in his mother's voice. The people around him seemed more anxious for him to see than he was himself.

'The gaps are very small, and there is scarring left behind after the cells disappear,' he explained. 'McCoy believes he will be able to heal the scars with a regrowth treatment, but he fears that if he uses it while even one abnormal cell is left it will cause the pigmentation to regrow.'

'And he's sure the scars will heal well enough to give you back reasonable eyesight?'

'Nothing is certain, mother. McCoy hopes that my sight will be returned to normal. Only time will tell.'

As he spoke his mother's hand closed around his, and he clasped it briefly with his other hand.

'I am used to it, mother, and what I have now is better than complete darkness,' Spock told her gently. 'I will see soon enough. It is better the scars are healed later than risk permanent sight impairment.' He released her hand. 'You have been cooking muffins,' he said, changing the subject to something less disturbing to them both. 'Chocolate, by the smell.'

'Yes, I have,' she smiled. 'They're too hot at the moment. Sarek's going out this evening. I thought it might be nice to go sit in the sitting room and eat muffins and drink tea – like we used to.'

'That would be pleasant,' Spock nodded. He wasn't sure if he was indulging his mother's nostalgia or his own. There had been so many times when he was younger of waiting for Sarek to go out, and then indulging in some solely human treat of his mother's contrivance while they did not have to face his father's censure. 'Is the house empty, mother?' he asked. 'I am not sure of the time.'

'It's only nine.'

'Then I did sleep late.'

'No, Spock,' she smiled. 'You just slept like any normal person who's on holiday, who's just experienced a lot of time shifts - that's all.'

'Where are your guests?'

'In their rooms, resting after breakfast. Or working - they're probably working in there.'

'Someone should have woken me,' Spock said with a frown.

'You needed to sleep, Spock,' she said firmly. 'None of them think you discourteous. Anyway, you looked so thoroughly asleep when I went in earlier...'

Spock knew that she was smiling as she said that, and he allowed her her human sentimentality. Then he remembered the open window, and the noise he had heard.

'Was anyone in the garden ten minutes ago, mother?'

'I don't think so, Spock. Why do you ask?'

'I thought I heard someone outside my window.'

'Well, one of our guests could have stepped out there for a minute.' She moved to the window, then said, 'There's no one out there now, as far as I can see. Now, would you like me to cook you something, or are you happy with the replicator?'

'I can cook for myself, mother, and use the replicator.'

'I'm sure you can,' she smiled, 'but you're on holiday.'

Spock crossed over the room to the replicator, trusting that it was the one he knew from his last visit. 'Computer, tallan salad and orange juice. I do not want to put you to trouble, mother, if everyone has already eaten.' He took the tray from the slot and went to sit down. 'Where is the table?' he asked as he reached its old position.

'Over here, Spock, closer to the wall,' she said, touching his elbow to guide him. 'I did a little rearranging in here a few weeks back. There's a chair just here.'

Spock sat down at the table, picking up a shred of raw vegetable and crunching on it.

'Tallan salad,' Amanda echoed. 'No wonder you're so thin.'

'I am not underweight, mother.'

'I know - I just worry about you. But I don't know how anyone can eat bright pink salad.'

'I had forgotten it was pink,' Spock said honestly. 'Or pink and turquoise, to be more exact.'

'It just looks unearthly.'

'It is unearthly. It is Vulcan,' Spock said, knowing that his mother would appreciate his discreet humour.

'Spock, we're going down to the academy in an hour,' Amanda said, sitting down beside him. 'There's another meeting on admitting students. I'd only have to stay in there for the formalities, then I can come straight back.'

Spock reached out to the noise of her palm on the table, and touched the back of her hand lightly in reassurance.

'Mother, I can take care of myself. I am able to stay in the house alone.'

'You can't see anything,' she said. Her voice caught on the words, and Spock could feel her hand tensing under his. He could feel that she had aged minutely since he had last been able to see her face, and he could sense the sudden breakthrough of tearful emotion with her words.

'That is not fact - I have explained the extent of my vision,' he reminded her. 'I grew up in this house, mother. You may have rearranged the furniture in some areas, but it has not changed significantly since that time.'

Her hand relaxed again, and she half laughed, 'I guess it hasn't.'

'You must remember I have been blind for over seven months, mother. I have looked after myself all that time quite successfully. However, it would be interesting to hear the debate,' he said, partly truthfully and partly to ease his mother's worries. 'I will come, if I would be permitted to sit in on the talks.'

'They're not closed meetings,' she said with an air of gratitude. 'I don't think they could object to someone watching.'

'Or listening.'

'Or listening,' she echoed. 'Shall I take your tray?' she said as he finished his meal.

'No, thank you,' Spock said, getting to his feet. He picked up his tray and began to carry it back across the room.

'Spock, watch out for - ' Amanda began.

Spock smashed into something knee-high, and dropped the tray as he reached out to save himself. As he fell forward someone ran to grab him from behind, jerking him back to his feet. The tray slid across the floor and clattered into the wall. The hands released the fabric of Spock's jacket slowly.

'Good morning, Commander Spock. Do you require further assistance?'

'Thank you, I am fine,' Spock said quietly. He stepped back with almost improper haste, unfolding his cane with a flick of his wrist to find the tray and put it up on the work-surface. 'Good morning, Stalan. I shall be in my room, mother, preparing to go out.'

He brushed past Stalan's arm, but he did not stop to apologise. At that moment he just wanted to be in the seclusion of his room.

'You should consider moving with more care in future,' Stalan said as Spock turned up the corridor.

Spock ignored him with a skill borne of the years growing up tormented by young Vulcan bullies.

'Spock, wait,' Amanda said helplessly. She gave Stalan what she hoped was a withering glare. Perhaps the statement had been logical, but there was a line between logic and rudeness. 'Excuse me,' she said coldly. Stalan raised one eyebrow as if he had no idea of why she was so upset.

She strode through the door and almost walked into T'Mir in the corridor.

'He went to his room,' the Vulcan said without having to ask what was wrong.

'I know, thank you.'

She found Spock sitting in the chair by his window, his face a perfect mask of calm, but his hands were betraying him, clenched and white in his lap.

'Spock, I'm sorry,' she told him, coming across the room to him. 'I just didn't think about warning you until it was too late. We've rearranged things in some of the rooms.'

'I should remember to use my cane,' Spock said. He relaxed slowly until his body had melted back into the contours of the chair. 'This is not the controlled environment of my quarters. I must remember that the house has changed and stop relying on old memories.'

'We could put things back how you're used to them,' she suggested tentatively, but he shook his head as she had expected him to.

'I cannot allow you to rearrange the house around my blindness,' Spock said. She knew the subtle tone of annoyance was directed at himself, not at her. 'There are always uncertainties in a habitation with more than one occupant. I must simply be more careful.'

'You're not hurt?'

'No, not at all. I am fine, mother,' he said firmly. 'My confidence in my surroundings and in my own ability has been altered – that is all. There was no physical damage.'

She found she had to fight against the learned reflex of never touching her son to reach out and take his hand. It was so hard to reconcile this image of Spock sitting sightless, with the son she had watched grow up and walk about with such unhindered purpose, eyes always moving to take in some interesting sight.

'Mother, I am not sure that I should spend my leave here,' Spock said gently, 'It seems to distress you so.'

She realised that through the contact Spock must be feeling every battering wave of sadness that crashed through her body, and she tried hard to push the feelings away, stroking his hand gently.

'Not as much as it distresses me knowing you're on the ship out in space millions of miles away,' she promised him.

'You are finding it hard to see me like this.'

'Yes,' she admitted. 'Yes, Spock, I am, but that's my problem, not yours. I just need to get used to it. It's just because I'm your mother, and I hate to see you hurt.'

'I am not hurting,' Spock reassured her quickly. 'There is no physical discomfort.'

'Yes, I know. There's no logic to my reactions, I know that. But I'm just not objective.'

'I sometimes find it difficult to remain objective too,' Spock admitted. Amanda felt his hands beginning to relax under hers. 'Especially after such incidents as this, after attempting to reassure you I could manage perfectly alone. What was that I walked into?'

'I had the recycling bins pulled out. I forgot that you wouldn't know.'

Spock sighed, nodding at that information. Therein lay the treachery of an eidetic memory – his mind superimposed a perfect image of his surroundings, but nothing changed, nothing updated itself. His images were recalled from over a year ago, but his surroundings changed every day.

'Spock, we should sit down and work something out later,' his mother offered. 'If there's anything we need to remember or change to make it easier for you, you need to tell us. You have just as much right to an easy life as anyone else.'

'I do not need anything changed, mother. I should not walk about this house without my cane visualising it as it was the last time I visited. All I can do is be more careful. Maybe then I will avoid any more - incidents - like this, especially in front of your guests.'

'I'm sure Stalan didn't mean anything - it was just the tone of voice,' she said softly.

'Perhaps,' Spock said in a level tone. 'But I do not need to be reminded to walk with care after such an incident.

'I admit I don't like the man,' his mother nodded, 'but I'm sure he wouldn't be deliberately cruel. They'll all be leaving in two weeks time, Spock. Then you won't have to live around them.'

'I know I should have stayed in the room. I told a lie to leave - there is nothing I need to take out with me that I need not pick up five minutes before going.'

'I'm afraid it takes a little longer for me to prepare, being a human of my age,' Amanda smiled.

Spock reached out a hand to touch his mother's face. 'You seem perfectly presentable to me, mother,' he said, then drew back. 'Go - I will be fine.'

******

Spock found himself sandwiched between Dr T'Ahnu and Dr Stalan on the small family skimmer - they were not touching, but it was close enough to test the limits of Vulcan standards. Sarek, T'Kal and Seren were in the row in front of him, while T'Mir sat beside Amanda at the front. Spock admired his mother for the courage she displayed in flying seven perfectionist Vulcans in a small skimmer designed for six passengers - it would have been much easier to let Sarek fly it. But the debate from the night before still seemed to be alive, and he guessed there was a greater logic in Amanda and T'Mir's decision to stay at the front, well away from it all.

'Spock, what is your opinion on the fact that with these new proposals there could be one outworlder for every ten Vulcans in the academy?' Dr T'Ahnu's aged voice asked from beside him. 'You have been most restrained in offering your views on the subject.'

Coming from a Vulcan so old, the last sentence could only be a strict criticism.

'I have always found it stimulating working amongst aliens,' Spock said smoothly. 'It is one of the basic ideas of the IDIC concept - it is easy to stagnate without infinite diversity to stimulate the mind and introduce new ideas.'

'But do you not see - pardon me – *_perceive*_ that even more emotional students in the academy can only create disharmony?' Stalan asked.

'Without different elements to blend together there can be no harmony,' Spock replied firmly. 'There is no harmony in one instrument playing. An orchestra thrives on the harmony produced between many different instruments and players.'

'You are speaking metaphorically,' Stalan countered in his hard voice, 'Instruments are not people.'

'But people are instruments - of thought, of creativity, whatever blood runs in their veins. Even Klingons are capable of studying science and music, and of restraining their basic impulses when it is required.'

'You are suggesting we admit Klingons to the academy?' T'Ahnu, for all her years and discipline, could barely keep the shock out of her voice.

'I am suggesting that students are admitted on the merits of their minds, not their species,' Spock said softly. 'Where would you place a being such as myself, half Vulcan, half human?'

'To be frank, I would place you outside of the academy, and the planet,' T'Ahnu said very softly. 'You are a human with green blood mistakenly flowing about your veins. You belong to Starfleet - a place for the dispossessed and unprincipled of the galaxy.'

The shuttle dipped in the air, and then righted itself - Amanda had been listening. Spock didn't blame her for the lapse in control. The calm, unemotional words had shocked Spock right to his heart. He had never believed Vulcans capable of openly expressing such xenophobia, even the aged Vulcans. He could feel some kind of stiff, cold mind-wall before him, and knew Sarek had the same feelings, to be shielding to such a noticeable extent.

'Excuse me,' Spock said politely, 'I have resisted in offering my views on this subject because there seems to be little logic in my becoming involved in something that I really have no authority to affect. Even discussing the issue in a casual debate, I can see that neither of us will convince the other of the merits of our opposing ideas.'

The woman shifted in her seat - a non-verbal sign of annoyance - perhaps because he had not shown any sign of emotion at her words.

'Commander Spock, it is illogical for you to say that you 'see' when you cannot see,' she said sternly. 'You feel and smell, hear, taste and mind-sense, but you do not see. You are blind.'

'Your information is incorrect. I do see, albeit extremely poorly. With all respect, T'Ahnu, and to use a human phrase - you are not my mother. It is not your place to lecture me on the words I use to express myself.'

'It is always the place of elders to instruct the youth. I am rapidly forming the opinion that you are a most illogical individual - possibly due to your prolonged exposure to alien minds. You seem to be living proof of the damage that such exposure will wreak on the Vulcan students at - '

'T'Ahnu!' Sarek's authoritative voice cut through her words. 'I think my son has heard quite enough,' he said, his voice suddenly calm again, but unusually short. 'You seem to not only be insulting him, but my entire family.'

Spock knew that Sarek was taking a risk in speaking to a guest in such a manner - and such an important guest, too. He had already guessed from her name and accent that this woman was from the esteemed T'Lin matriarchy - an old and valued family. The seats of the craft creaked as T'Ahnu leaned back in her place, stonily silent.

******

'I must thank you for your intervention,' Spock said quietly to Sarek, as they waited in the ante-chamber to the meeting hall. He had deliberately drawn his father away from the rest of the party so he could speak to him in private. 'It could not have been easy to speak to T'Ahnu the way you did.'

'Do not thank me for a logical action, Spock,' Sarek said firmly. Then he added in a lighter tone, 'Although I may have taken a bigger liberty than you know - T'Ahnu was my kindergarten instructor. She was a formidable teacher.'

Spock raised an eyebrow at the image of his father as a restless Vulcan child under T'Ahnu's instruction. It was not easy to imagine. He turned his attention to the room they were in instead, trying to garner an idea of the space around him.

'Spock – you are projecting,' Sarek said suddenly, in the same low tone he would use if mentioning that his flies were open.

Spock straightened his back, immediately raising his mental shields. 'I – apologise, Sarek,' he said. 'I have grown used to dropping my shields in the presence of humans. They sense nothing, and it does give me somewhat of an awareness of my surroundings.'

'I see,' Sarek said, disapproval thick in his voice. 'You believe it appropriate to listen in to others' minds when they are unconscious of the fact?'

Spock drew in a deep breath. He had always hated having to explain his actions to his father. 'Sarek, I do not listen in to their minds,' he said. 'I simply gain a faint awareness of where they may be standing or their base reactions to *_where*_ they are standing. It is *_no*_ more – in fact, it is vastly less – than you would gain from seeing the emotions on their faces.'

'Perhaps that *_is*_ appropriate in human company. It is not in Vulcan.'

'I am aware of that,' Spock nodded. 'I will attempt to correct the error. Sarek, should you be going into the meeting?' he asked.

'Soon,' Sarek nodded, then said flatly, 'Professor T'Kal.'

Spock could detect some asperity in that statement, and asked, 'Is there something wrong with T'Kal?'

'Professor T'Kal is most inappropriately dressed for a meeting of such importance.'

'Indeed?' Spock asked, then prompted, 'She is wearing - ?'

'Red. A dress the same hue as the desert rocks in Han'lyl, extremely low cut at the neck and back, trailing the floor at her feet. Her hair is loose - it is waist length.'

'I see,' Spock nodded. Her garb did sound unconventional for a Vulcan woman - but sometimes he felt his people needed a little more unconventionality to rock them from two thousand year old attitudes.

'It is only fortunate that her assets as a teacher outweigh the eccentricity of her dress and manner,' Sarek concluded.

'Ambassador Sarek!'

Professor T'Kal had approached them, and she swung round to face Sarek, her voice slightly apologetic.

'Ambassador Sarek, we must enter the meeting chamber.' She turned to Spock, 'Commander Spock, only members of the delegation can sit at the table. You must make your way to the galleries if you wish to observe.'

'Quite understandable.'

'I must go, Spock,' Sarek said, and followed the woman, quietly assessing her from behind.

'Sarek!' Spock heard his mother say as Sarek reached her.

'Yes, my wife?'

'Sarek, what about Spock?' she asked quietly.

Spock turned away, knowing he wasn't meant to hear. He wondered how he could perceive his father shrugging when Vulcans did not physically shrug.

'Spock cannot enter the chamber. He must listen from the gallery above,' Sarek said. The shrug was there in his voice - he didn't understand what she meant.

Spock stayed silent, feigning not to hear the conversation only ten metres away. He remembered the academy's layout, and was sure he only needed to get his bearings to find his way.

'Sarek, we can't leave him in the middle of this huge building,' Amanda said under her breath. 'He hasn't got a guidance computer, he doesn't have his guide dog with him.'

Spock turned on his heel, and went back to his parents. 'Mother, I will be quite fine,' he told her quietly. 'I am not totally dependant on Sacha, or on you. Simply direct me to the stairs, and I shall find my way from there. I'm quite familiar with the gallery – but if I find myself in difficulty, I shall ask someone for help.'

'Spock, come with me,' Sarek said, and he took him across the echoing stone room. 'Before you are the stairs up to the gallery, the rail to your right. There is only one flight.'

'Thank you, father,' Spock said, reaching out to find the stair rail. 'I shall see you when the meeting is over.'

'Your mother is simply concerned about you, Spock,' Sarek said quietly before he moved away. 'She sees you are injured, and she wishes to help, even when that help is not required.'

'I know,' Spock replied. 'I hope that the meeting will be successful, father.'

'Hope will have no bearing. Only our best efforts at persuasion can sway the views of our opposition. I have no idea how long the meeting will be, Spock. I shall meet you back in this ante-chamber when it is over.'

Spock nodded, then made his way up the cool stone stairs which curved up to the wide balconies that he had sat in so many times to listen to scientific debates. The place sounded fairly empty, and it was easy to find a seat down at the front of the rows where he could sit leaning forward with his arms on the front rail to hear everything that went on.


	3. Chapter 3

3

As the debate progressed it became rapidly obvious to Spock that a solution was not going to be easily found. The arguments both for and against admission were so logical and so well-founded that each person, according to his or her persuasion, were unable to hear the opposite argument with any kind of fairness. Spock could make out at least thirty separate voices, including his parents, and he was aware occasionally of new voices saying a single word in agreement or argument, which meant there were probably about forty lecturers, student representatives and governors in the chamber, with almost equal amounts on the opposite sides. Since most of the voices against admission were more aged or confident, Spock could surmise it was the more powerful governors and lecturers who held these views, while the younger students were mostly in favour. It did not bode well for alien admission, since it would be the more aged who were the more respected and would carry more sway in any final decision.

The longer Spock listened the faster he realised that the same points were simply being bandied about repetitively, and that the meeting was sure to continue for a long time. Listening in on conferences lacked a lot when he could neither observe the faces of the people below, nor the magnificent surroundings in which he was sitting. He could feel the ancient carvings that surrounded the gallery rail under his fingertips, but he could take in none of the vastness of its splendour. After a few more minutes he got to his feet and made his way back out of the gallery.

He paused at the bottom of the wide stone steps and stood for a moment, listening carefully. As usual for indoors, it was too dim even to make out colour. He could just hear the breathing of a person somewhere in the ante-chamber, so he turned to the noise, and asked;

'Excuse me, are you a member of staff?'

There was a shuffle of feet turning, then a young male voice replied.

'No, sir. I am Sirok, a student in the philosophy department. Are you in need of assistance?'

'I wish to access the main records library here. I am familiar with the academy, but the last time I came here I had the use of my eyes.'

The youth's voice took on a puzzled tone. 'You are blind? That is most unusual.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. This student was obviously at an age before tact and finesse had tempered newly-mastered logic.

'Would you be willing to guide me to the library?' he asked.

'I would - but the records are not converted to voice. They are read only.'

'And they are not available in touch language?'

'The expense and trouble of converting every record to tactile format would be illogical when below point nine percent of the Vulcan population are blind,' Sirok replied with the pure conviction of righteousness.

'I see,' Spock said. Suddenly it did not seem so extreme for eighty-seven percent of Vulcans to commit ritual suicide on blindness. Even he was not out of the one year danger zone when most Vulcans decided living without sight was just too hard - and it did not surprise him that they found it too hard when logic prevented his society from catering to all but a few of his basic needs.

'Have you ever considered, Sirok, what that expense and trouble would mean to many like myself?' he asked. 'Have you considered, as a student, what it would be like to be denied the right to study, or even to read?'

He became aware that his voice was rising from the controlled norm, and he steadied it. It was not equitable to feel anger, however mild, at a student probably less than twenty years of age, simply for being unaware of the difficulties faced by a sect of society he had probably never come into contact with.

'I will find a member of staff to assist you, sir,' the student said in a more humble tone. 'I cannot help you myself - I have been sent by my tutor to find Commander Spock - he is supposed to be observing the talks.'

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. 'I am Commander Spock.'

'Then I have found you, sir. My tutor requests a meeting with you. Will you honour her?'

Spock nodded briefly, intrigued at the invitation, and surprised that anyone knew that he was here at the academy.

'I will come.'

******

As he walked along the echoing stone passages of the old parts of the academy, Spock tried to analyse the sounds he could hear. He had made no questions of his young guide, but he could tell by the route they had taken that they were treading the corridors of the philosophy department. He followed the student up a small flight of stairs and his cane touched a carpet on the floor, indicating that they had reached the tutors' offices and rooms of residence.

'Here, sir,' his guide said, stopping in the corridor. He knocked on the door, then stepped away. 'I have to return to my studies.'

'Thank you,' Spock nodded, his words half obscuring the call from inside the room, asking him to come in. All he could tell was that the voice was female.

He stepped forward to the door and went through it slowly, unsure of what would be beyond.

'Spock,' said the crisp, clear voice from inside.

Spock kept his face composed as if it was carved from stone, as he bowed slightly, and replied, 'T'Pring. It has been a long time.'

Inside his mind was racing over the situation he had just walked into - meeting his betrothed, divorced by koon-ut-kal-if-fee, after so long. He would not betray any feeling, but the distorted memories of that time when he had been burning with blood fever, and had been manipulated, out of pure logic, by this woman into almost killing his dear captain, still lingered inside him. T'Pring's logic was of a kind that chilled and cut, rather than cooled and calmed.

He calmly folded his cane up, trusting that T'Pring's office would be as ordered as her mind, and stepped forward into the room. He could tell from her voice that she was sitting down, and she would feel it unnecessary to tell him to follow suit - but he also guessed she had not yet realised he could not see.

'Could you direct me to a chair?' he asked.

There was a long, slow pause and, through the remnants of the mind link he had shared with her since the age of seven, he could feel her eyes moving over him, and her sudden realisation of what had changed in him. Then she moved smoothly across the room to him, touched his arm with her fingers, and guided him to a chair. He waited for her to reseat herself, then asked;

'You wished to speak with me?'

'Yes, Spock. But I see there are other matters we should discuss first. How long have you been blind?'

'Seven months, one week, six days. I could quote the hours and minutes if - '

'That is not necessary. Our divorce was most timely.'

'Of course, you could not be married to a blind man,' Spock nodded, eliminating all traces of sarcasm from his voice. The more time he spent on Vulcan, the more he noticed the human inflections he had taken on in his speech.

'I have my own life to lead, Spock,' she said smoothly. 'It would not be logical to have a consort who required more than the usual amount of attention.'

'And Stonn?' Spock asked. He still held a certain amount of curiosity over the Vulcan that T'Pring had chosen over him, who was almost his own age, but seemed so much more immature.

'Stonn is off-world at present. I did not call you here to discuss Stonn. I wished to discuss these conferences.'

'You have made a mistake, T'Pring,' Spock said flatly, touching his hand to his cane in anticipation of leaving the room. 'I am not actively involved in the conferences.'

'Neither am I,' T'Pring replied. 'I simply hold an interest in them.'

Spock raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by her motives for calling him here. 'I assume you oppose alien admission?'

There was a long pause, then T'Pring said, 'Why would there be logic in opposing the opening up of Vulcan education?' She stood up from her chair, and came to stand in front of him. 'Spock, will you walk with me?'

'If you will accompany me back to the meeting chamber when the talks are over - I must meet my parents there.'

'I will have them page me when they have finished,' T'Pring nodded. Spock waited while she spoke into her desk communicator, then stood and touched two fingers to her arm for her to guide him out of the room. She took him silently down through the galleries of the tutors' offices and apartments, and finally opened a heavy door. Spock stepped out with her into the burning sun of a Vulcan midday, and smelt the scents of one of the academy's many courtyard gardens.

'I find myself with a problem, Spock,' T'Pring said as they moved away from the cooler shadow of the buildings.

'Indeed?'

'I am faced with a dilemma. I have reason to believe that some supporters of alien admission are in danger. However, I have no evidence for this, and my suspicions amount to little more than a personal interpretation of what I have heard.'

Spock raised an eyebrow slowly at the idea that T'Pring, the epitome of logic, was telling him she had a hunch about the talks.

'I can bring my suspicions to no one without discrediting myself,' she continued. 'Therefore, I speak to you. I believe you know me well enough to take my word as fact.'

'I barely know you at all, T'Pring,' Spock corrected her. 'We were bonded, but I have spent only a little over five hours in your presence over my entire life. However, I do take your word as fact.'

Spock took almost everything T'Pring did as pre-read - it was all predicable in logic. The only element that surprised him was her relative warmth towards him - he could only assume that now he was no longer a threat to her freedom of choice for a consort, she no longer needed to repel him with her actions. She was treating him, quite logically, in a way that would make him listen to her.

'Who is in danger, T'Pring?' he asked. 'Do you have names, places, times?'

'I have nothing of substance. I found a voice message on my computer two days ago, which deleted itself as I listened. The speaker, like you, assumed I opposed admission for alien students - indeed, assumed I would be quite violently opposed. I was invited to meet to discuss ways to persuade the conference members to agree to the purist ideals of only all-Vulcan entry. I did not attend.'

'Where were you asked to meet? Do you know who left the message?'

'I was told to meet the caller outside a certain shop in the town. I did not go, and I never learned his identity.'

Spock paused in his step, feeling the heat of the Vulcan sun washing around him. It was obvious why T'Pring had brought him out here to talk – he could hear no one else out here, and these courtyards were large and open enough to be sure of no one concealed nearby. There was nothing but the soft sound of leaves moving in the very slight breeze.

'T'Pring, a message alone does not imply violence is planned,' he reminded her.

'No. But I believe it is. My belief is strong enough to make me come to you, Spock.'

'Then I also believe you,' Spock told her, realising how much she must believe to speak to him in this way. 'May I inform Sarek of this suspicion?'

'My intention was that you inform him of the suspicion, but not my identity.'

'You realise that it is most probable that the only result of this will be that security is tightened?'

'Yes, Spock,' she replied. She made to move forward again across the paved courtyard, hesitating just long enough to be sure that he would follow. 'Hopefully, that will be enough.'

******

Sarek closed his eyes and settled back in his chair in the huge circular meeting chamber. The discussions were getting nowhere - they just seemed to be chasing themselves around the table, and always coming back to one fact - T'Ahnu, Stalan, and five other Vulcans on their side emphatically stated they would resign if more alien students were admitted to the academy. Amanda's face was drawn and tired - she was one of the few humans at the table, and she had given up trying to argue any points. The debate seemed closer to emotion than any Sarek had witnessed. Sarek himself was trying hard to diplomatically negotiate between the arguing Vulcans, while his mind continually wandered to the thought of Spock, and the darkness he lived in. His son had enough trouble in his life recently without two weeks in a house full of people arguing about something so close to his heart - the unification between Vulcan and alien of which Spock was literally an ambassador. He stood up from the table, and looked towards Amanda.

'Excuse me. My wife, attend me.'

Amanda stood up gratefully, and seemed to be holding herself back from running out of the chamber. Once outside, she leaned against the wall and let out an exhausted laugh.

'Oh, Sarek, how did you know?'

'I have been your husband for a long time. I need to refresh my mind also.'

'Spock?'

'Then you read me just as well. I do not understand why, but my mind dwells on him.'

Amanda smiled, and pressed his arm gently. 'Because he's your son, Sarek, and no matter what you say, you do care about him. I don't like the thought of his sitting up there and listening to all of this.'

'Spock has endured prejudice since his birth, Amanda. He is capable of listening to the debate in a detached and analytical manner. However, he is no longer in the chamber. I saw him leave eight minutes ago.'

'On his own?' Amanda asked, her face suddenly becoming anxious.

'Yes, my wife,' Sarek said calmly. 'He is also capable of taking care of himself - he has proved that quite adequately in his seven months since the accident.'

'He went flying in the kitchen this morning because he didn't know the recycling bins were out,' she told him.

'And tomorrow he will be aware that they may be. He is adjusting to a new set of references. He will be fine, Amanda.'

'I know, Sarek, I know,' she smiled. She sighed, and looked back to the chamber doors. 'We have to go back to the discussion. It's expected for us to be there.'

******

Spock disengaged his fingers from T'Pring's arm just outside the ante-chamber to the meeting hall. It was a pleasant surprise to find how much easier it was to be with her when there were no expectations of marriage forced upon them both by their respective parents. He would not relish spending more time with her than was necessary, but it was not as hard as he had imagined it would be.

'The doorway is directly in front of you, Spock,' T'Pring said, turning him slightly. 'Contact me through the philosophy department.'

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but she had already walked away, her heels clicking sharply in the empty stone corridor. He knew she had not looked back. He walked forward into the ante-chamber just as the doors opened from the meeting, and suddenly he was surrounded by moving bodies, all talking with that low down murmur which constituted Vulcan chatter. He stood very still in the middle of the chamber, since it seemed easier than trying to navigate through this crowd, and waited for someone he knew to see him. He could sense that his parents were somewhere nearby - he simply could not hear their voices to find to them.

'Commander Spock,' a quiet voice said at his elbow.

'Dr T'Mir,' Spock nodded, silently relieved at the presence of someone he knew. 'Do you see my parents?'

'They are across the room - they are looking over at us. Ambassador Sarek is indicating that we should leave. It is crowded in here. You may find it helpful to take my arm.'

Spock nodded, and reached out to her arm. 'Thank you, T'Mir.'

'You left the talks early, Commander,' said a male voice, and Spock recognised Seren, standing to his left.

'Yes. I meant to go to the library to research the facts about alien admission - unfortunately I found the records come only in written form.'

He did not see the need to reveal where he had really been, when his main intention had been to go to the library. If T'Pring did not want her name mentioned, it was easier to bend the truth.

'There is the secondary college across the city, Spock,' T'Mir told him helpfully. 'It is one of the few with full facilities for the blind. It sometimes holds classes dedicated to teaching blind scientists some things that conventional teachers would deem impossible. There they can teach a scientist such as you to rewire a complete sensor panel by memory and touch.'

Spock raised an eyebrow, remembering the piles of boards Scotty had dumped on his desk one day, saying, 'Have a go at that lot.'

'I have already taught myself to do so, with a little assistance from my ship's engineer. But does this college have an accessible library?'

'It does,' Seren told him. 'But I have myself compiled a large amount of data - you are welcome to transfer it to your own computer to read.'

'I shall do that,' Spock nodded

'May I take this as an indication that you wish to join the committee?' Seren asked Spock. 'I am sure that a Starfleet officer would be admitted, as a representative of those off-world.'

Spock shook his head, half regretfully. 'I am on Vulcan to rest, and this issue is not a restful one. I shall be content with helping in an unofficial capacity - I do believe that additions from other cultures can only be beneficial.'

'As the first person to be born of Vulcan and human parents, you would be in an excellent position to argue for admission,' Seren pressed, still hopeful.

'I would also be in an excellent position to be targeted by xenophobic extremists,' Spock said seriously. 'I do not wish to use my genetic makeup as an arguing point. As I said, I am willing to help unofficially, but my involvement will go no further.'

'As you wish,' Seren said, stepping back slightly. Spock could sense the tightly held in disappointment.

'Did the meeting have any positive outcome?' he asked, as they walked out towards the shuttle.

'We are no further along now than we were before,' Seren said regretfully, 'Except that we all know to a fuller extent the depth of commitment of each member of the voting committee.'

'Meaning that no one will move an inch,' T'Mir nodded. 'I believe the situation will be the same for some time. We simply need a catalyst.'

'I agree,' Spock nodded - but he had no intention of letting himself become that catalyst.

******

There was one surprise on the shuttle on the way home - and not an unpleasant one. Stalan leaned closer toward Spock and said quietly;

'I fear I caused you offence this morning in the kitchen, Spock.' His voice was less harsh than it seemed when he was talking about the academy issue.

'Fear and offence are both illogical,' Spock said. He wasn't about to be lectured on his logic again by T'Ahnu - although her voice was not evident amongst those on the skimmer - maybe she had work still to do at the academy.

'Nevertheless, I should have acted with more sensitivity. Logic is sterile without compassion to temper it, and it can border on the impolite.'

'The incident is already forgotten,' Spock said, almost truthfully. At least Stalan had refrained from saying aloud what the incident had been. He wasn't sure even T'Mir actually knew what had happened, although he had heard her voice as he went into his room.

The skimmer gave a stomach-twisting swerve as it began its descent to land outside the house, and Spock reflexively gripped at the seat. Stalan reached out an arm to steady him, asking, 'Do you need assistance?'

Spock shook his head. 'The shuttle movements are simply disorientating when one cannot see the horizon.'

As Sarek helped Spock through the awkward door of the skimmer he said very quietly, 'Spock, I should like to speak with you.' He added in a louder voice, 'I must go into the town for some fresh produce. Would you attend me, Spock?'

'Of course,' Spock nodded.

'Amanda, we will be back within half an hour,' Sarek told his wife, 'Then I may cook the meal I promised to you.'

'Sarek's going to make shi-laki, Spock,' his mother said with a smile, indicating to the other Vulcans it was some kind of private joke. 'With fresh laki.'

'We will make sure it does not escape on the way home, mother,' Spock said seriously. 'I am sure that Sarek can restrain it.'

Laki was a native desert vegetable that uprooted itself and rolled when it needed water, or was under attack from a grazing animal - and it moved fast. Spock could clearly remember Sarek spending an afternoon searching for and chasing the plant through the house after it had rolled out of the kitchen unnoticed.

'We must go before the shops are closed,' Sarek said. He didn't quite appreciate his wife making jokes in front of the other Vulcans.

'Take care, then,' Amanda said gently.

'We would not deliberately act recklessly, my wife,' Sarek replied innocently.

Amanda smiled, wondering why anyone had ever said that Vulcans didn't joke. She turned to follow the other Vulcans into the house, then looked back at Spock, feeling the wrenching jerk she did every time he went more than a few metres out of her sight. Of course she knew nothing could happen to him, and there was no reason it should be worse because he was blind. She went into the house resolving not to fall into the trap of treating Spock like a child.

******

'Spock, do you need my help?' Sarek asked, turning back to his son.

Spock considered for a moment. The sidewalks were smooth and straight, and not cluttered as they often were on Earth or other planets. The pedestrians, too, walked with measured attention - there was little chance of a crowd barging past to disorient him. His walk into the town with Sarek last night had posed no problems.

'I can use my cane,' he decided, 'although I may need to take your arm if the sidewalks become more crowded.'

'Very well, Spock,' Sarek nodded, and began walking at a moderate pace, glancing sideways to be sure that his son was keeping up with him.

'You wished to speak to me,' Spock said when they were out of earshot of the house.

'Yes. About Dr T'Ahnu,' Sarek said gravely.

'I must have offended her deeply.' Of course - Sarek could not let such a slur by his son go unmentioned. He must simply have been waiting until they could be alone for the reprimand. 'I shall apologise when she returns,' he promised.

'She will not return - and I would not advise an apology when it was she who was inexcusably rude.'

'Did I offend her to such an extent that she refuses to share our house?' Spock asked, deeply worried. Whether or not she deserved it, if it became known that the Ambassador's son spoke to elders in such a manner, he wasn't sure that any of the delegates would be allowed to stay in his house.

Sarek gave an exasperated sigh.

'Spock, it is I who asked for her removal - immediately after the meeting. She has offended your mother previous to your arrival, as well as insulting you. I asked her to refrain from speaking in such a manner to members of my family. She stated that she would not hold herself back from speaking the truth. So I asked the academy heads if they could arrange alternative accommodation for her. I shall send her luggage to her new address tonight.'

Spock wasn't sure what to say - after eighteen years of silence, he wasn't used to his father making so much effort to make him comfortable. They walked on a few steps, then Spock said, 'I do not wish to damage your reputation - I could have borne her attitude, or avoided her.'

'You should not have to avoid her in your home, Spock. Forty years ago she actively opposed the hospital with whose help you were conceived. The academy heads agree that she should not have been included in the guest party to my house in the first place.'

'It is your choice,' Spock nodded, then changed the subject to more practical matters. 'Sarek, there is something you could do that would help me to go into town alone - '

'Yes, Spock?' Sarek asked.

'I remember the town very well, but not in absolute detail. I need landmarks to recognise. For example, I can correlate the numbers of streets that join the main one with the shops that stand near them. I remember that T'Hal-Sinak's Store stands just after a junction, and if I knew it was the eighth, or the ninth, I would be able to find it. If there is any noise I know I shall hear in a certain place, or any feature I shall feel, or a certain number of strides between one place and another, they will all present a map to me. Perhaps as we walk you could help me build up that map?'

'I shall do that,' Sarek promised. 'We are now on the first main intersection, by the harmonic temple. I shall name the shops and landmarks as we pass them.'

Soon they began to get into the middle of the town, and the sidewalks were becoming more crowded with people. At one point three walkers decided to walk between Spock and Sarek rather than around them, angling Spock too far away from Sarek to tell where he was. Spock froze on the street, waiting for Sarek to come over to him.

'I apologise, Spock,' Sarek said softly. 'Perhaps it is time for you to take my arm.'

Spock nodded briefly, reaching out to the offered arm. As they walked further into the milling groups of people Spock became glad of the guidance. Half of the voices sounded familiar, and most of them Sarek murmured greetings to, and occasionally stopped to speak to. Spock answered politely to all of their logical, curious questions about how he lost his sight. He had no excuse for the disquiet he felt every time he had to recount the details of the explosion - he simply had to make himself reply, quietly and unemotionally, as if it had all happened to someone else and meant nothing to him.

Another passer-by took his leave with the ritual phrase, 'I grieve with thee, Spock,' and passed away to merge with the crowd.

Spock tensed his hand imperceptibly on his cane. It seemed sometimes that it was an offence for him to be coping well with his sight loss - that as a true Vulcan he should be sitting in a rock chamber in the mountains of Gol, ready to take his own life rather than face the world in darkness.

'Something troubles you?' Sarek asked, pausing in his pace.

'No, father,' Spock reassured him. 'But perhaps we should hurry on to the shop. Amanda will be waiting for us.'

There was a long pause, then Sarek said, almost sharply, 'Then you should compose your face, Spock. You have been among humans so long you do not realise when you show emotion in your eyes.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'I did not realise I showed anything in my eyes, father. I have not looked in a mirror for some time.'

He stepped away from Sarek's arm to carry on walking down the road, a little faster than was necessary. After a short silence his father began to walk after him, then touched his arm to turn him slightly back towards the line of the sidewalk.

'You have always been impetuous, Spock,' Sarek said with a hint of irritation. 'Do not walk away from my guidance when you are in need of it.'

Spock kept silent, but he took Sarek's arm again, touching it a little more loosely than before, trying to suppress irritation at his forced dependence on his father.

'You need not talk to strangers about how you lost your eyesight,' Sarek said. Spock could hear he was looking straight ahead, not at his son's face. 'Simply tell them, the past is forgotten.'

'Using ritual phrases is a poor way to excuse emotion. There is no logical reason why I should not talk about my disability and its cause.'

'There is no logical reason, but there seem to be many emotional ones.'

Spock fell silent, unwilling to begin a conflict with his father, especially when he relied on him to find his way home.

'I forgot to mention, Sarek,' he began after a minute of silence. 'After I left the meeting chamber today, I spoke with someone - a tutor - at the college. She wishes to remain anonymous, but she also wished to warn me she had reason to fear violence may occur against supporters of alien admission. I promised I would inform you of her suspicions.'

'The security around the talks is enforced well, Spock,' Sarek said dismissively. 'I realise you could not see the guards - '

'I do not make the argument, Sarek - I merely pass on the message. All that I can say, is that I trust this individual's word.'

'And yet she chooses to remain anonymous?'

'She is a highly logical individual, and yet her suspicions have little base in logic. She does not wish her reputation to suffer on seemingly groundless fears.'

'I will tell the academy heads what you have said. I can do nothing more than that, Spock.'

'That is all that I ask, father.'

'We are approaching the store, Spock,' Sarek said, turning in towards the edge of the sidewalk. 'There is one small step up.'

The shop owners were an old couple who had been there ever since Spock could remember. Their grand-daughter had attended school with him, and they had quietly slipped him traditional sweets as Amanda was busy choosing vegetables for the evening meal. They had been as dedicated to logic as any other Vulcan, but not cold, and as dedicated to each other as they were to their philosophy. Spock found it regrettable that the woman was beginning to forget the mind rules now - but she seemed perfectly clear of mind and healthy in every other respect, and in some ways it almost seemed kind to let a Vulcan express some of their untold emotions before they died.

As Spock and Sarek left, the couple both said in unison. 'We grieve with thee, Spock.'

Spock knew that the old woman meant it as she clasped his hand. He could feel every bone and vein in her hand, but it was still warm, and strong - the contact simply betrayed every feeling in her mind as she walked with them out into the street. He could see her memories of him as a child, bright-eyed and curious, and feel her sadness at the sight of his eyes now, dull and blocked over by dark cells.

When they were alone again on the street, Spock said quietly, 'Why must everyone I meet grieve with me? Is there logic in grieving?'

Sarek looked across at his son, knowing that Spock was still grieving, and remembering the grief that he himself had had to overcome.

'There is not logic in everything a Vulcan does, Spock,' Sarek answered.

'My sight is simply partially obscured by a layer of pigmented cells that prevent light from hitting the retina. I am not dead, or mutilated. I am simply blind.'

'And you are not reconciled with that fact,' Sarek reminded him.

'Maybe I am not - but neither am I in mourning.'

'However you choose to put it, Spock, you are not content with your current situation. People who comment in such a way are simply acknowledging your discontent.'

Spock pressed his lips together. There was little point in arguing with Sarek – mostly because he knew that his father was correct. The best course of action was to correct his own emotional failings rather than attempt to camouflage them with logical rhetoric.


	4. Chapter 4

4

There was no hint of trouble as they walked back up the level road towards the house. Spock was aware that they were nearing his childhood home – he was familiar enough with the feel of the area to know that – but he wasn't sure of _*exactly_* how close he was, so the slight sounds of strangers moving and talking nearby did not seem odd to him. But as they turned right and he realised precisely where they were he became aware that the strangers' voices were inside the garden walls.

'Spock, something is wrong,' Sarek said as he pushed open the high gates.

'What do you mean?' Spock asked, instantly hearing the strangers' voices in a different light.

'There is a V'shar on guard outside the door.'

'The police?' Spock asked, raising an eyebrow at this news.

'No, Spock. The V'shar. You have spent too long amongst humans.'

Spock resisted asking his father if he was sure, no matter how unbelievable this seemed. He kept pace with his father and walked sedately up the path, wondering what on earth could have happened in the house in the time it took them to go into town and back to warrant a guard on the door.

'Do you see anything suggestive of what has happened?' he asked calmly.

'I know no more than you do,' Sarek replied, searching the face of the house for any sign of disturbance. 'I cannot see anything that is suggestive of trouble.'

'You can see the police officer,' Spock reminded him, frustration gripping him at his lack of sight.

'That is all I can see, Spock. I do not know what has happened - but I assume we will find out in a moment. We are approaching the step,' he warned.

The officer stopped them as they stepped up to the door, moving sideways slightly to block the entrance. Spock could feel the bulk of him in front of them.

'You cannot enter,' he said in a deep, level voice. 'This is a crime scene.'

'I am Ambassador Sarek - I live here,' Sarek said sharply, obviously annoyed at being denied access to his own home.

The officer regarded him emotionlessly, then nodded, and turned his impassive gaze to Spock. 'And your partner?'

'My son - he is staying with us.'

The man stood aside. 'Enter, then.'

'Can you tell us what has happened?' Spock asked.

'You will both be interviewed inside,' was the officer's only reply. 'You are blind?'

'Yes.'

'Then I would advise you to tread with care,' he said enigmatically.

'Thank you, Officer - we will be fine,' Sarek told him, impatient to get inside to see what was going on. 'Spock, you should take my guidance now.'

Sarek stepped up through the door, and Spock followed, but he jarred as his father's arm stopped moving suddenly, and the room was filled with the cold mind wall of a Vulcan suddenly shutting down all emotional response. Spock's nose was assailed with the nauseating stench of burnt human blood. He took a step forward, and his foot slipped in wetness at the same moment the cane contacted with something soft. Something had happened near the doorway, then.

'Spock, stay still!' Sarek said quickly, putting his hands on his son's arms to pull him back. 'There is a body in front of you.'

Spock's heart seemed to stop for a second. There was only one human in the house. 'Mother - '

Sarek's eyes scanned slowly up and down the scene before them, trying to make sense of what he saw. While he could logically work out the physical scene, he failed completely to perceive any reason or logic in why it was there.

'It is not Amanda - I do not recognise the woman. As for the other...'

'They were not from Starfleet?' Spock asked. What if Jim or McCoy had decided they should be with him?

'The clothes are civilian, as far as I can make out,' Sarek said.

'Then what has happened?' Spock asked. He turned sharply as the sitting room door clicked open, and he heard his mother's voice.

'Sarek, Spock, thank God you're back.' There were waves of relief in the statement.

'Mother, what has happened here?' he asked insistently. The smell of blood was thick and tangible in the air, reminding him mercilessly of the explosion that blinded him, and a man dying under his hands. It was against any of his training to remain a passive observer. He needed some kind of solid facts to focus his mind on logic instead of memories.

'Spock, you'll have to step sideways to get over here,' Amanda said. 'Sarek, can you help him?'

Spock briefly felt Sarek's worry for his wife through the contact with his arm. It was an odd, overwhelming feeling of love mixed with apprehension, and a need to be on the other side of the hall by her. Then the cold wall slammed down again.

'Amanda, are you hurt?' Sarek asked, his voice a perfect example of complete calm. Spock was impressed at his control - the emotion had felt so tumultuous.

'I'm all right. Can you help Spock to get over here?'

'I have my cane,' Spock said.

'You need help,' Amanda almost snapped, her tone that of a mother who wanted obedience, not questions.

'Will somebody *_please*_ simply describe the scene to me?' Spock asked tightly, the frustration threatening to overwhelm him.

'Spock, there is blood covering the floor,' Sarek said softly, and Spock knew he meant that literally. 'I think there were two people - I cannot be sure.'

'There were two,' Amanda said impatiently. 'Sarek, please.'

'I am coming, my wife. Spock, I shall direct you past the - mess. Please tread carefully.'

He put his hands on Spock's shoulders, and carefully guided him past the carnage on the floor. All the same, they both had to take off their shoes before they entered the sitting room.

'Spock, leave the cane outside - it's covered in blood,' Amanda said, her voice overwhelmed with distress. Sarek took it from Spock, and leaned it against the doorpost outside. 'Now shut the door,' Amanda pleaded, 'The smell's making us all sick.'

Spock could only guess how the other Vulcans must be feeling at the sight, let alone the smell. As pacifist, vegetarian teachers, they had probably never even seen blood that was not green. Spock had seen plenty of bodies, and had gradually built up shields of logic to protect him from the horror, but the smell had never stopped making him slightly nauseous.

'Sir, I must obtain your details,' a woman said, stepping close to him.

'Can you explain what has happened here?' he asked quickly. He was not used to not being in some degree of control in such situations, and he heartily disliked the situation.

'We must have your name and a retina scan for the records,' the woman said, ignoring his question. Someone else was saying the same to Sarek. 'I am Lieutenant T'Ira.'

'Commander Spock of the USS _Enterprise_,' Spock said with practised ease. 'That can be confirmed by my ship, or by Starfleet records, if the ship is out of range. It will be impossible for me to provide you with a retina scan.'

He could hear the woman typing something into a hand-held datapad. There was a short silence, then she said. 'Your name is on the Vulcan Register of Nationality, but you are not registered blind,' she said suspiciously.

Spock sighed. No matter what planet he was on, bureaucracy never ceased to be maddening.'I was only recently blinded, and I have been off-world. I work in Starfleet.'

'I must ask why you did not report to a doctor on Vulcan to register your blindness when you arrived.'

'Aside from not having had the chance, I am employed by Starfleet - I shall be claiming no benefits or special medical treatment here. My employers pay for my needs.'

There was silence, then she said, 'You may not leave this room until we have a confirmation on your identity from Starfleet records. If I cannot obtain a retina scan I have no proof of your identity.'

Spock tried to control his irritation at this inconvenient waste of time. He could be doing something to help - maybe speaking to Jim on the _Enterprise_, accessing records and files. But this was a Vulcan internal crime - Starfleet would have no business interfering, and therefore he had no right to interfere without permission, and no power of authority. But he was sure it would be hours before anything actually happened to apprehend the killer - sometimes Vulcan bureaucracy could rival human with its sheer persistence in following absolute logic.

'Now perhaps you could answer my questions?' Spock asked. 'There are two apparently mutilated bodies lying in the hallway. They were not there this morning. I have a large deal of experience in investigating such matters through my position as a Starfleet officer, I may be able to help with your enquiries.'

He didn't need to see the woman's face to know one eyebrow was raised sardonically. 'I do not think that will be necessary, Commander,' she said dryly.

'Lieutenant, I have eleven years of experience working on a starship. I have been involved in the investigations of many crimes, including murder. If you are worried that my blindness would make me a liability - '

'I am,' the woman said with blunt Vulcan honesty.

'Then you are mistaken.'

'You cannot see. How could you possibly investigate?'

Spock stood wordless for a moment, almost frozen by the woman's blanket refusal to acknowledge his usefulness. He could have launched into a long explanation of how he could help the investigation, but he knew it would be pointless.

'Excuse me,' the woman said finally. 'I have tasks to carry out.'

Spock could feel her mental barriers closing down as she turned away from him to tap commands into her datapad. Spock stood still for a moment, then turned around and asked;

'Mother, is there a free seat somewhere?'

'Over here, Spock,' she said, then looked around at the crowded, obstacle filled room, and back to her son. 'Wait a moment.'

Amanda came to him, then guided him to the couch and sat beside him. Spock turned his head sharply as he caught her scent.

'Is that blood?'

'It's not my blood, Spock,' she assured him. 'I'm all right. You want to be doing something, don't you?' she asked, as she saw him flexing his hands with frustration.

'It seems that opinions of the blind have lessened over the centuries,' Spock said dryly. Some Vulcan prejudices had grown since they joined the Federation, not diminished.

'Well, it's so rare nowadays, hardly anyone comes across it,' Amanda said softly. 'That's not an excuse, I know…'

'But it is a fact,' Spock nodded.

'Anyway, it's not just you. I don't think she likes humans, either, Spock,' Amanda told him reassuringly.

'Then it is ironic that she is investigating the murder of two of your species.'

'Our species,' she reminded him softly.

'As you wish,' Spock nodded.

'Do you want me to go through your questions?' she asked.

Spock nodded - at last someone volunteering to enlighten him. 'Yes. Could you tell me who is here in this room, what was the identity of the victims, when did the murder occur, and how was the murder carried out?'

'Firstly, everyone who came back in the skimmer is in this room, plus three V'shar guards. There are at least three more in the hall, and one standing outside the front door.'

'We met,' Spock nodded. 'Were the bodies here when you returned?'

'No. I don't know exactly what happened,' Amanda began, 'but I guess I'm the only real eye witness.' The couch moved, and Spock became aware that Sarek had joined them.

'I would fetch your Braille reader so you could read the report, Spock,' Sarek said, 'but there is no way through to your room as yet.'

Spock couldn't quite imagine what carnage could happen to make the entire hallway impassable. He had been warned of violence by T'Pring, but he had never quite expected to find that violence in the doorway of his own childhood home.

'We'd just got through the door, Spock,' Amanda said. 'The others had come in here, but I heard a shuttle draw up outside. I went to meet it - there were two people in it. The woman said she was a teacher from the academy - they'd apparently swapped her host-house placing with T'Ahnu's. The police have already confirmed that. Her husband had just come with her to help her with the bags, and see where her new placing was.'

'And she was human?'

'Yes - she said her name was Caroline Seaton.'

Spock stiffened at that name. 'Caroline Seaton?' he repeated. 'Was Seaton her maiden name?'

'I'm not sure. Probably it was. Spock, what's wrong?'

'There is a woman by that name who served three years on the _Enterprise_. I taught her at the science station from when she joined the ship as an ensign. She married a teacher - a human - at the science academy and took a sabbatical to teach alongside him. When she became engaged she desired to know more about Vulcan. I spent a good deal of time with her both during work and recreation hours, discussing the ways of my planet. We - became very good friends.'

'Spock, I'm so sorry,' Amanda told him. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' he said thinly. He sat in silence, then said quietly, 'Caroline Seaton had recently written to me to announce her pregnancy, and her hope that I would be god-father to the child...' He swallowed unobtrusively. He couldn't let his parents see the extent of his shock, the great grief he felt at the murder of someone who had grown so close to him. 'What happened?' he asked.

'I invited them in when they got here,' Amanda said, 'and I'd just slipped into this room to let everyone know what was happening.' Sarek took hold of his wife's hand, trying to steady its shaking. There was a smear of red blood across her palm.

'What happened?' Spock asked again calmly.

'I heard a transporter - I couldn't work out what it was at first. I came back round the door, and there were two people there - they were so wrapped up I couldn't even tell what species they were. They had weapons - I don't know - they weren't phasers or disrupters - and they looked Vulcan designed - you can tell when a Vulcan has designed something - that mixture of practicality with art.'

'They opened fire?' Spock asked. He knew his mother was stalling.

'Yes. I was so scared I couldn't even scream. They didn't see me - they looked almost like robots, so single-minded. I don't think the couple even knew what was happening. They looked as if they couldn't believe the guns were pointed at them. Then these people - the intruders - opened fire.' Amanda swallowed. 'It was some kind of energy weapon. The first one cut the woman through across her stomach - I think she must have died straight away. The other - ' There was a gulp, and Spock realised she was drinking water. The glass rattled on the table as she put it back.

'The male was split vertically from his head to his feet,' Sarek said calmly. 'It seems that the weapon was of such force that it pushed one half of the body three metres up the hall floor. You see why there was blood everywhere?'

Spock nodded silently, imagining the sight in his mind, of that young woman and the husband he had seen in pictures, cut down like that, killed in cold blood. For once he was glad of his blindness, to be spared seeing that. Caroline Seaton had been such an exceptional student of science that he had suggested himself that she apply for a post in the science academy, and pushed her through the last months on the ship to ensure suitable qualification. He had written references for her and personally spoken to the head of science at the academy to guarantee her the job during her sabbatical year. He suddenly felt sick. The blood he was smelling was her blood, spread over the house.

'What happened to the intruders?' he asked.

'They beamed out, just a few seconds after they fired,' Amanda told him. 'They didn't call anyone - maybe they had a time limit.'

'But what was the motive?'

'The only thing I can think of, is that they were humans, they taught at the academy and were in favour of more alien students...'

'But who would murder over an issue such as - ' Spock leapt to his feet as he heard a transporter tingle, but Sarek's hand grabbed his arm.

'Spock, they're just beaming the bodies out,' Amanda said tiredly.

'Sit down, Spock,' Sarek said. 'The V'shar have phasers. It is their logical duty to use them against possible suspects.'

Spock sank slowly back onto the seat. 'Stalan, can you name anyone who might have done this?' he asked. Stalan seemed a logical place to start, as the sole remaining person in the room who opposed alien admission.

There was no answer. Spock knew that the man must be in the room, if no one had been allowed to leave. He found it hard to judge Stalan - one moment he seemed cruel and unfriendly, then apologetic, and now - Vulcans did not ignore each other, no matter how much they disliked one another.

'Stalan, Spock was speaking to you,' Amanda said. Spock wasn't sure why her voice was so gentle.

'I am sorry, Spock. I was - lost in thought,' Stalan said from across the room.

'Understandable. I wondered if you knew of anyone who might feel strongly enough to commit this crime?' Spock asked in a level tone.

'I know of no one on the opposing side who would commit murder,' came the monotone answer from across the room.

'No Vulcan would,' Seren added in his warmer voice, 'And there is no logical motive for aliens to murder over this issue - why should an alien want their own kind excluded?'

'Murder is very rarely logical,' Sarek said quietly.

'I cannot agree that no Vulcan would murder.' That was T'Kal. 'There can always be variables. But it is extremely unlikely.'

The room lapsed into silence. Even with the bodies gone, Spock could still smell the burned blood, and now all the spate of information and theories seemed to be over his mind began to slip out of the efficient, all-else-excluding duty mode. Every time he breathed in he smelled the blood, and his thoughts became tangled between images of the bright young woman who was so dear to him lying dead, and the memory of the vain struggle through pain and darkness to save a man lying trapped under a beam in the phaser room.

He got to his feet and began to walk determinedly towards the door.

'Sir!'

He flinched back at the unusual feeling of a Vulcan hand solid against his chest, halting his walk across the room.

'You may not leave this room,' Lieutenant T'Ira told him firmly. 'Return to your seat.'

'No,' Spock said firmly. 'This crime is a Vulcan crime, but it involved a Starfleet officer. It is my duty to notify her commanding officer.'

There was a short hesitation, then the woman said reluctantly, 'Where is the communications unit?'

'In the study across the hall.'

'I will take you.'

Spock submitted to the woman's awkward grip of his arms from behind, letting her steer him in a circuitous route through the hall which still smelt sickeningly of death. He could feel the occasional wetness under the bare soles of his feet as he moved across the cool floor, and he knew the wetness was blood. It was a relief as the thick wooden door of the study closed to cut off that sickening scent.

'Thank you, I can manage from here,' he said, stepping away from his guide's hands. He heard her retreat to a position by the door, while he went forward to the comm unit and opened up a channel. He mentally counted the seconds between requesting Kirk's transmitter on the _Enterprise_, and finally Lieutenant Uhura's soft voice saying, 'Putting you through now. Good to hear from you, Mr Spock.'

Then Kirk's voice broke in, saying, 'Spock, how's it going?'

Spock wasn't sure how he could tell Kirk was in his cabin - maybe it was the soft music he could hear in the background.

'Are you alone, sir?' he asked.

'Yes. But you're not.' Spock guessed he could see the V'shar officer in the background. The pitch of Kirk's voice rose a little. 'What's wrong, Spock?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. What was not wrong?

'Lieutenant Caroline Seaton was murdered today, along with her husband, in the hallway of my parents' home. As you were her commanding officer, albeit she was enjoying a sabbatical, I request - '

'We're only on a survey mission, Spock,' Kirk broke through. 'Anybody can map stars. I'm diverting the ship to Vulcan. We should be there in - ' There was a slight hesitation. 'Eighteen hours.'

'I shall look forward to your arrival, sir.'

'I'm sorry about Lieutenant Seaton, Spock,' Kirk said more softly.

'Thank you, sir.'

'And, Spock. Take care.'

'I will, Jim. Spock out.'

Spock flicked the communicator off, and sat for a moment, letting his palms rest on the silken wood of his father's solid and ancient desk. He had not sat in this study for a long time. The last time he had been able to glance up from the desk to let his gaze wander over the calm expanse of his mother's garden. The last time there had not been murder in his parents' home.

Spock couldn't help flinching as he felt the explosion rip into his face again, linking that memory of his blinding with the feeling Caroline Seaton must have felt as the blast of an energy weapon ripped through her body and the developing body of her unborn child. The alien, metallic scent of iron-rich blood suddenly seemed even stronger. He stood up abruptly and guided himself around the desk to the window, putting his hands on the catch.

'Sir, I have a gun trained on you,' Lieutenant T'Ira said flatly.

Spock didn't turn around. 'I am not about to leap through the window - there is a thorny spire bush growing outside it, and I have no shoes on. I just want some air in the room.'

A body edged past him, and the window rattled open. The air that came in was warm, but at least it didn't smell of blood. Spock leant his arms onto the windowsill, and stood listening to the sounds outside. Everything sounded symbolic of a perfect evening on his home planet. Only the scent from the hall belied the calm sounds of plants rustling and animals moving about.

******

Back in the sitting room, Spock wished he could sanction a lie, invent a reason for using the communication unit, anything to swap the atmosphere of this room for the quiet calm of Sarek's study. His mother's deep anguish almost filled the room in its strength, and try as he might, he could not quite close his shields down totally to her state of mind. He sat near one of the windows, listening to Sarek quietly talking with one of the V'shar officers, the other Vulcans talking among themselves, the noises from the hall as the bloodstains outside were methodically recorded and cleaned away. Statements had been taken, identities had been checked - there was nothing to do now but wait - wait for permission to have freedom in his own home again, and wait while the _Enterprise_ sailed silently through space, eating up light years in order to reach this planet as soon as possible.

Spock rose and moved over to where his mother sat on the long sofa. He stood for a moment before her, aware that she had not noticed his presence, then reached out a hand to find hers.

'Oh, Spock.'

She seemed to break out of reverie, and gave him her hand so he could briefly press it between his. He sat down beside her, leaning back into the cushions.

'I heard someone in the hall say this will be over soon,' he said confidentially. 'I also hear tool kits being packed up. They have almost finished, mother.'

'Thank God.' Her hands pressed his again, and he could feel in her mind the mixed emotions, the horror at the events of the last few hours, but the mother's and wife's relief that neither her husband nor her son were injured in any way. 'But what then?' she asked.

'I have contacted the _Enterprise_. As this incident involved an officer on sabbatical from the ship, Jim has diverted the ship here, to investigate. The V'shar are also investigating. I will investigate. We will find out what happened, and why.'

'When will the ship arrive?'

'In approximately eighteen hours.'

Spock could tell his mother was smiling weakly. 'You've never had your friends sleep over, Spock. I suppose I should put out a camp bed in your room, for your Captain Kirk.'

'Captain Kirk will sleep on the _Enterprise_, mother,' Spock said, entirely serious. He was aware in the background of a V'shar officer telling his father that the hall was cleaned, that they were free to leave the room. Suddenly he no longer wanted to leave the room. His next duty was to seek out the addresses of the murdered couple's families, and inform them of their deaths.

******

It had taken a strict mustering of control to open up the communications channel to Caroline Seaton's parents, to cut through their surprise and concern at seeing their daughter's former mentor was now blind, and give them their own bad news, that their daughter and son-in-law were both dead, murdered. Now Spock sat again in the sitting room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. There seemed little point in eating or sleeping until after the ship arrived. Until then, everything seemed in stasis. All he could do was sit near the window listening to the silence of the Vulcan night, pondering on what had happened and what would happen.

Finally he became aware of a slight noise from outside the room. He stood, his senses attuned to the possibility of danger, and strode across the room to the door. As he stood listening, he realised that the noise he could hear was coming from the study, that the noise was that of an old-fashioned scrubbing brush on carpet, that there was a subtle noise underneath it of someone trying to stifle crying.

He crossed to the study door, opened it, and crouched down to put himself on the level of the noise he could hear.

'Mother, what are you doing?' he asked softly.

There was another rhythmical scrub, then his mother replied, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

'There's blood on the carpet, Spock. It's a white carpet.'

'I remember. I am sorry,' Spock said, with the instinctive guilt of a small boy who had come inside with muddy shoes. 'I could not see where to tread when I crossed the hall. There was blood on my feet.'

'It's not your fault, Spock. There was blood everywhere.'

'Mother, why do you not use a stain removal laser, in the morning?'

'Because I'm angry, Spock,' she said, finally letting her emotions break through in an un-Vulcan way. 'I'm upset, and I can't sleep. I can't put myself in a meditation like your father.'

'Mother,' Spock said softly. He reached forward to pull her hand away from her task, and take the brush from her curled fingers. After a moment he found the bucket, and put the brush into it, pushing the pail back against the wall. 'Come and sit down,' he said.

They went into the sitting room, each half guiding the other, and sat down on the sofa.

'Spock, it's three in the morning,' his mother said finally. 'You should be getting some sleep.'

'I do not need sleep. I need to think.'

'Spock, is it that you're more human than you like to let on?' his mother asked softly. 'That you can't sleep either?'

'I simply do not feel like sleeping,' Spock said, realising his voice was more strained than it should be. He couldn't admit to his mother the nightmares he still occasionally suffered, and the fear that these events would bring back all his nightmares with increasing strength. 'I am not tired,' he said in a softer voice.

'Spock, do you want me to get you something to help you sleep?' Amanda asked at last, and Spock could hear she was deeply concerned for him.

'Would you like me to get _you_ something? ... You could get me some coffee, mother?' he added as an afterthought.

Amanda studied her son's face in the dim light, half turned to her with the request, but lacking the deep, unwavering eye contact that she had grown to expect from Vulcans. She could not get past the sadness she felt at the lack of light in the brown eyes. His face was drawn and tired, as if he'd been awake for days, but it also had the look of concentration on it that she recognised from Sarek's face. There was almost no point in arguing with that look, but she had never stopped trying.

'Spock, are you sure it's wise to stay up? You need rest, even if you just sleep for an hour.'

He shook his head briefly, looking too much like a Starfleet officer. 'No, mother - please. I need my computer, and some coffee.'

She sighed, and went to fetch him what he wanted. Then she sat down beside him and watched him endlessly typing, erasing, typing again. She had no idea what he was writing - he had the screen turned off, and only occasionally scanned his fingers across the small strip that raised in Braille whatever he typed in.

'Spock, what is that?' she asked eventually.

'Caroline Seaton's parents asked me to write a eulogy, to read at her burial ceremony. Her will requested she would be buried on the nearest planet to the place in which she died.'

She touched his arm gently, aware that he was feeling much more than he would let on to her, aware how hard the small piece of writing would be to compose, even for a supposedly straightforward and logical Vulcan.

Finally even five cups of coffee could not stave off the demands of his body, and his eyes closed. Amanda silently saved his work, and put the computer carefully on a table nearby. She knew if she woke him to make him go to bed, he would only insist on sitting awake again, so she took a blanket and laid it over his body, then sat back down beside him and leant into her son's Vulcan warmth, doing some thinking of her own.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Spock was standing somewhere at the back of the hall, staring in horror at the sight before him. The house was in flames, and his father was lying on the floor, held under a fallen bookcase, while pink coolant gas billowed out from cracks in the walls. His mother was dead, her body completely dismembered and strewn across the floor. He kept trying to walk forward to help his father, and someone - Dr McCoy, perhaps - kept holding him back, and covering his eyes, telling him he shouldn't look because it was too distressing. Sarek was calling to him, and McCoy eventually took out a hypospray and jammed it into Spock's arm. The room went black, but he could still smell the blood. Stalan told him firmly, this is what must happen to outworlders. T'Ahnu was behind him, smiling. The smile was even more evil on a Vulcan face. He stepped forward again, and tripped, and his face was in something wet and soft. Caroline Seaton was crying out, asking why he had let her die...

'Spock, it's all right!'

Spock's eyes snapped open, but he was sitting in a well of darkness. His face was against the softness of his mother's chest. Her arms were around him. He could smell her clothes and perfume every time he breathed in, but behind that, incongruous and disturbing, the smell of blood still pervaded the atmosphere.

'Spock, it's all right,' his mother said again. 'You were just dreaming.'

Spock closed his eyes again, and made himself relax. He was still sitting on the couch in the sitting room, and he could feel a blanket lying heavy over his lap. His mother stroked a hand over his hair, and he drew away, trying to pull back some semblance of dignity.

'Stalan,' he began in a confused tone.

'What about Stalan, Spock?' his mother asked softly.

'I - dreamt that he and T'Ahnu - murdered you and Sarek, and Caroline Seaton...'

'It was a dream, Spock,' Amanda said. She stroked his cheek softly with one hand. 'Just a dream. Why did you dream that?'

Spock hesitated, analysing his confused thoughts. 'When I fell in the kitchen, Stalan - seemed to take an improper pleasure in my difficulty. I believe I meshed that memory into my dream.'

'Spock, do you know why Stalan acted strangely?' Amanda asked in a light tone. 'Stalan is stone deaf in one ear, and half deaf in the other. He didn't hear you falling over in the kitchen, and he didn't know what to say when he walked in on you. Spock, he was just embarrassed, as much as a Vulcan can be - T'Kal told me that this afternoon. She was worried that we might think he was just rude.'

Spock raised one eyebrow. 'He could have told me.'

'He could have, but he prefers that people don't know.'

'Illogical,' Spock murmured, although truthfully he understood Stalan perfectly. Sometimes he would have given money to be able to conceal his blindness from interested strangers.

'Spock, were you dreaming about your accident?' his mother asked after a hesitation. 'You muttered something about coolant gas.'

Suddenly the smell of blood was overwhelming, pushing in through every pore of his body until he felt he was covered in it. He clenched his hands together hard, trying to control this cascade of irrational fear that the murders had sparked off, that kept on and on reminding him of being in that room where his sight was ripped out of his eyes by cancer-like cells. It should have been easy to use his well-learned disciplines to neutralise the memory, but somehow it never was.

'I do dream about the explosion occasionally,' he admitted finally. His hands were clenched together so tightly he could feel that his nails were slitting his skin apart. Then the cool touch of his mother's hands gently prised his apart, forcefully opening up his fingers and stroking his hands to relax them. For a moment he submitted to her touch, then he stood up and pulled away. He could not succumb to this as if he was a child. He had to solve his emotional problems alone, as he had been taught.

'I am sorry, mother,' he said, moving towards the door. 'I must go for a walk. I need some fresh air.'

'Spock, it's pitch black outside,' Amanda called after him, but she trailed off as she realised Spock didn't care how light it was. 'At least wait for me to come with you.'

She took a few seconds to grab a hand-light, then ran after him, catching him at the gate. It was literally pitch black, with no moon to reflect the sun, and the stars not giving off any useful light, but she didn't turn the light on. Somehow she felt she had to meet Spock on his own ground. She took hold of his arm, stumbling after him in the dark.

'Spock, please slow down - you'll trip,' she said.

'Mother, let me be alone,' he told her firmly.

'You can't - you'll get lost. You don't even have your cane.'

'I lived here for twenty years - I cannot get lost, I know the terrain,' Spock snapped. 'Must you force me to be dependant?'

'Spock - '

He heard the hurt catch in her voice, and slowed a little.

'I am sorry, mother,' he said in a controlled voice. 'But I fully intend to keep to the road. I am not going to get lost. You must understand that I am capable of taking care of myself.'

'Yes, I know you are, Spock,' she said quietly. 'My head knows that – it's just my heart is taking a little longer to realise it.'

'The human heart is a great disadvantage,' Spock murmured.

'No, it's not, Spock,' she said patiently. 'You know that as well as I do. Would you deny everything of me that's in you?'

'No, mother, that is not what I meant,' Spock told her, fleetingly glad that he couldn't see the disappointment on her face. 'I'm sorry,' he said again. 'I have found today's events – disturbing to say the least. I simply had to get away from the smell. I can still smell it.'

'It can't still smell out here.'

Spock shook his head. 'No - I think the smell is in my clothes. It has never bothered me so much before. I don't know why it does now. I have smelt blood before.'

'It's understandable, Spock.'

She pulled back on his arm, stopping him from walking any further. He tried to pull away from her, but she held him there.

'Spock, please, wait. You have to talk to me,' she urged him softly in the darkness. 'It's not just these deaths - it's your sight too, isn't it?'

'My sight, my blindness...' Spock shook his head. 'My - feelings - are confused on the subject. On the ship, I have become a blind person, and I have moulded my life around that. In familiar surroundings I manage almost as easily as I did with sight. But here - I do not have Sacha to guide me, I am not used to the house or its environs. It is as if I have stepped back two months in my progress. I feel *_very*_ blind, more so than on the ship. Occasionally I find the problems of blindness very difficult to tolerate, especially now, when I need to be fit and alert...'

'But the treatment is working?' Amanda asked, unable to hide the note of anxiety in her voice.

'Yes,' he reassured her. 'But it is not pleasant. Very much like the chemotherapy used on old earth for cancer, the treatment attacks every cell in my body, not just my eyes. It is only because the pigmented cells are more unstable that they succumb more easily to the disrupter waves. But it is injurious to all of my body tissues. It leaves me tired, which consequently makes managing harder.'

'I'm sorry, Spock,' she said with deep feeling. 'I'm sorry the treatment's so invasive. But you will see, soon, won't you?'

'Relatively so,' Spock nodded.

Reassured, Amanda released her grip on his arm. He didn't carry on walking, so she stood still with him and stared out across the black land to where the quiet desert hills met the dark sky. Now her eyes had adjusted she could just make out their contours against the star-lit sky. Even after all her years on Vulcan, it still amazed her how bright the stars looked seen from a planet with no moon.

'I always find it strange to look up at the sky and see Sol there, as a tiny star,' she said, staring up at the one star that she could always find without fail. 'It's hard to believe that there's a little green and blue planet orbiting that tiny spark of light.'

'It seems ironic,' Spock said, his face turned towards the black horizon, 'that you with your human eyesight can see millions of miles and I cannot even see my hand before my face.'

'Well, I can't see my hand before my face at the moment, Spock,' she admitted. 'I don't have my flashlight on.'

Spock turned towards her, his head cocked sideways. 'Mother, have you ever studied human sayings?'

'What do you mean, Spock?' she asked curiously.

She was glad that his voice had a lighter tone when he quoted, 'If the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch.'

Amanda laughed, and immediately felt better. 'Well, we're all right, Spock. There are no ditches along this road.'

'That is true,' Spock nodded. 'But if you switch the light on, mother, we can go sit at the edge of the desert. The beam should keep the le-matyas away, and the air may clear both our heads. It is a long time since I have experienced a desert night – or a desert dawn.'

'That would be very pleasant,' Amanda said gracefully, turning with Spock towards the edge of the road where the manicured verges began to give way to an altogether wilder expanse. Here, at least, he accepted her help to step down onto the rougher ground and venture deeper into the desert.

Amanda found a spot of flat sand with her torch, and led her son over to it to sit down. His face seemed to relax by another degree as soon as his palm touched the sand beside him. Occasionally, when sandstorms were raging or when the plants were withered with drought, Amanda wondered how anyone could have as much love for the desert as the Vulcans around her. She worked so hard keeping her plants green, and still Sarek preferred to sit in his zen-like rock and sand meditation garden. Spock, at least, seemed to find both as delightful. But at dawn, when the sun caught the edges of the land and the black rocks began to burn red and gold, she would argue with no one who said the desert was beautiful.

******

The longer they sat on the sand the easier it became for Amanda to reconcile her mind to some of the horrors of the day before. There were certain advantages in being married to a Vulcan, and one of them was gaining a rudimentary ability to control and understand her emotions, even if she did not then attempt to suppress them as a Vulcan would. It seemed that Spock too was calmed by the calm around him. He sat on the soft ground with his legs loosely crossed and his arms resting on his lap, caught in a meditative silence as sand scudded across sand in the darkness. As the blackness in the sky began to melt into a subtle tone of deep, dark red her son's profile began to stand out against his surroundings, and she sat gazing at his motionless face, wondering at what was passing through his mind. She knew that, of all the emotions that her son strived to control, he found frustration one of the hardest, and he was almost certainly frustrated now.

She reached out to his arm, and he gave the smallest of starts, as if he had forgotten her presence.

'The sun will be up soon,' she murmured.

'I can feel it,' Spock nodded, his voice quiet. 'There is – a change in the scent and temperature of the air. I can hear animals beginning to stir.'

'There's fire catching the edge of the hills.'

Spock turned his head towards her, waiting, and then said, 'Please, continue to describe it.'

She hesitated a moment, unused to such a task, but then began, 'Everything close to us is black still – the rocks and the sand…'

'Mother, the night is rarely purely black,' Spock pointed out pedantically.

'Spock,' she admonished him softly, then said, 'Very well. Everything close to us – everything outside the range of our light – is many shades of dark, velvet brown and red. The sand is very dark, but occasionally some light catches the pyrites in it, and they all glint like little sparks from a fire. The stands of _val'esh_ bushes look black against the sand…'

She reached her arm around him to pull him closer as she continued to describe the scene. For once he succumbed to her human mother's urge to simply encircle him with her arms, and she finally felt she could give the comfort and care she needed to give. Whether her son needed that care was less clear in her mind, but she sensed from the way he relaxed into her hold that he needed to take it as much as she needed to give. He listened to her description in the same rapt silence that would hold him as she read him stories as a child.

The tops of the furthest hills were beginning to bask in the first real light when Spock and Amanda returned from the desert. As they walked up the paved front path their shadows stretched out ahead of them, and they could feel the beginnings of daytime heat touching their backs.

'Mother, someone has been in the house,' Spock said as soon as they opened the front door, turning his ear warily towards the hall before them.

'Spock, there have been lots of people in and out of the house - ' Amanda began.

'No, not at the time of the murders. Someone has been in since then,' Spock said with absolute certainty.

'How can you possibly know that?'

'I didn't hear you close the door when you followed me out - it is a hot night - you would have every reason to leave it open.'

She shrugged. 'I did leave it open.'

Spock sighed, wondering at how unobservant humans seemed to be, never noticing what their actions were. 'But just now we stopped outside the door while you remembered your entry code. You had to think about what it was.'

'Well, that's because we never - ' She broke off, suddenly realising what her son meant.

'You did not shut the door, let alone lock it. You know Sarek would not get up and lock it - he does not believe in locks, and had he risen, he would have known you were outside, and left it open. In fact, the only times I remember the door being locked are when you left the house for long trips away. Even if they were concerned, or had gone outside themselves, the guests would not presume to interfere with the family's customs. And as all our guests are Vulcan, I assume they would also display the trust-bond of leaving the door unlocked.'

'But who would break in and then leave, locking the door behind them?' Amanda asked curiously.

'Humans,' Spock stated, 'Or off-worlders. Not Vulcans. It would only occur to a person in whom locking the front door is a reflex action.'

'But why would humans - ' she began. 'Maybe they thought it was T'Ahnu they were attacking?'

'No one could mistake T'Ahnu for a young human couple. I am convinced that whoever is doing this is someone who wants no aliens in the academy, and is targeting everyone who is passionate about allowing admission.'

Amanda suddenly pressed her hand to her mouth. 'Oh God, your father! He gave a speech in the meeting hall today about the values of alien intelligence, and how anyone opposed could have no logic in their minds. He probably insulted twenty people all at the same time.'

She tore away from Spock's hand and practically ran to her room. Spock began to follow, keeping a steady pace despite his apprehension. As he reached the door she emerged, with Sarek following her.

'Mother?' Spock asked.

'Your father's fine, and he didn't hear anything,' Amanda said with relief.

'There may have been nothing to hear,' Sarek said. Amanda had obviously updated him. 'Humans lock doors by reflex and they are forgetful. Amanda is human.'

'Sarek!' Amanda said reproachfully.

'Sarek, I did not hear her close the door,' Spock said firmly.

'The door hardly makes a noise - it would be easy to miss the sound. I cannot see that anything has been touched.'

'Sarek, I am certain – ' Spock tried again.

'As am I,' Sarek cut across him. 'Spock, you should try not to fidget with your hands,' he said tersely. Spock realised he was rubbing his thumb back and forth across his fingertips, and stopped it instantly. 'You have always fidgeted with your hands. It betrays your emotions as much as a smile or a frown.'

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, a tactic he had grown used to employing to stop himself falling prey to the habit that he found so hard to break. There, at least, if his hands did fidget, few would see it. It struck him that his father had always been peevish when awoken from sleep, but now was not the time to start trading criticisms of un-Vulcan behaviour.

'Sarek, would you please trust my judgement for once – ' he began, wondering how old he must be before his father would treat him as an equal rather than an errant child.

'Spock, we should all return to our rooms,' Sarek said flatly. 'We have all had a tiring and disturbing day. Sleep will clear your mind.'

Spock began to formulate a reply to convince his father - but he recognised from years of experience that the tone in Sarek's voice meant he was not in the mood to listen. For all his ambassadorial skills, Sarek was not perfect in applying them to his own family. He closed his mouth, and obeyed Sarek by going to his room. But as soon as he sat down on his bed he felt something was wrong. It was difficult to pin down what it was, but somehow the room felt different. The bedcovers were not folded quite as he had left them, there was a subtle scent of a non-Vulcan being hanging in the air. He put a hand out to the surface by his bed, and the positions of his possessions seemed subtly altered. Some of them he could not feel at all. He stood up and walked towards one of the other cupboards in the room, but his foot crunched on something on the carpet. He dropped to his knees and felt about, until his fingers touched his comb, broken. He sat for a moment wondering what had happened, then he went to his door, and called, 'Sarek!'

He waited in the doorway until his father came.

'Spock, what is it?' Sarek asked as he came through the door, rather irritably it seemed.

'Someone has been in my room,' Spock told him flatly.

Spock turned the light on to allow his father to see what he had felt. Sarek took it all in with a calm sweeping gaze.

'I can see nothing wrong, Spock. Except for this - ' Spock heard his father stooping to pick up the comb. 'You should be more careful with your possessions, Spock.'

Spock clenched his hands behind his back in hidden frustration. 'Sarek, if you were blind, if you appreciated any facet of my blindness, you would realise just how essential it is that I am careful where I leave my possessions. That is what is wrong. Nothing is quite where I left it, as if someone had searched my room.'

There was a short pause, then Sarek replied evenly, 'Spock, for you to imply that I do not understand your blindness is unfair. This is the first time you have visited your home since losing your sight. There is only so much one can learn from reading books on the subject.'

Spock stepped forward to his father, genuinely touched at that tacit implication of how much he really did care. He had not imagined Sarek sitting reading medical texts in an attempt to understand his disability.

'Perhaps I was unfair,' he nodded. 'But that does not alter the fact - someone has been in my room and moved – or *_re*_moved – my possessions.'

'They must have done this extremely quietly - I was not sleeping deeply,' Sarek said, giving a tacit acknowledgement of the veracity of his son's claims. 'What is missing, Spock?'

'I am not sure,' Spock said with a frown.

He moved about his room swiftly, feeling over surfaces and through his drawers, checking what had been touched and what had not.

'My cane,' he said, 'my speaking clock, and my Braille translator. They have taken those implements that give me mobility and access to information.' He shook his head, uncomprehending. 'I believed that these people were targeting aliens and sympathisers. I am not even a member of the committee. What can they gain by this?'

Sarek moved across to the window briefly as if to look out into the garden, then came back to face his son. 'You are the symbol incarnate of the co-operation between Vulcan and alien, Spock. You are also a Starfleet officer attempting to investigate the murder of a Starfleet human. Whoever has done this is trying to impede your efforts to that end.'

'Which means that they have been watching us - to find my room without waking anyone else up, to know even that I am blind. It's not common knowledge here that I am blind now.' Spock felt glad for the first time that he had left his trusted guide-dog on the _Enterprise_ with Jim. If his mobility was being attacked, Sacha would have been the first target.

'You must realise, Spock, that the intruder would have expected you to be in your room at this time,' Sarek said gravely. 'You may yourself have been a target for murder.'

'I am aware of that,' Spock nodded. 'Only, please do not say so in front of Amanda, Sarek. She need not know if she does not realise the fact herself.'

'Of course.' Sarek sighed softly. 'Spock, I will lock the doors, and in the morning I will inform the V'shar of what has happened here. May I suggest that for what remains of tonight you sleep in our room? Our previous visitors beamed in, and I do not like to think of you being alone with an intruder.'

Spock pondered on the logic of that suggestion. 'If I had my phaser, I would not agree,' he nodded, 'but as it is - '

'You do not use a phaser, Spock?' Sarek asked curiously.

'I have an adapted phaser that locks into heat emanations - such as those from a body. I keep it locked on stun. Of course, I did not bring it on leave with me.'

He turned as he heard his mother come into the room.

'I've locked the house up, Sarek,' she said as she entered. 'No matter what the Vulcan tradition, I'm not sleeping with unlocked doors tonight.'

'I was about to do that, my wife. Thank you.'

'Spock, what is it?' she asked after a moment of silence, noticing the air of tension in the room.

'Someone has been in here and taken my aids,' Spock said calmly.

'What do you mean, Spock?'

'My cane, my clock, my translator - they have all been taken. I am not sure if anything else is missing. It seems that someone wished to severely hinder my activities.'

'Who would do that?' his mother asked, rage and tears in her voice. 'Who would be so cruel?'

'A person who would cold-bloodedly murder a teacher and her husband,' Spock said flatly.

'I would like to cold-bloodedly murder him,' Amanda said, and Spock was shocked at the vehemence and sincerity with which his normally gentle mother spat the sentence out.

Spock suddenly realised quite how much this had shocked and upset his mother, to be sparking such protectiveness in her, and he went to touch her arm gently.

'Mother, violence solves nothing,' he said gently.

'I know. I just - Spock, I don't think you should stay here - you or Sarek. It's not safe.'

'Because I am blind?'

'Yes, in part,' she said defensively. 'How can you defend yourself if you can't even see if someone's in the room with you?'

'I can hear. I can smell, and feel mind emanations. My ship will be arriving soon - if it becomes too dangerous, I can sleep there rather than here. If anyone should leave, it should be you and Sarek. You are directly involved in these talks. In fact, I suggest that you would be in more danger - Sarek is purely Vulcan, and neither you nor I are.'

'I cannot leave,' Sarek said firmly.

'And I won't leave,' Amanda added.

'Then neither shall I.'

'Spock, I don't want anything to happen to you...' she began, her voice trailing off with the knowledge that her protests would make no difference to her stubborn son.

'If they wished to harm me so much, they would follow me,' Spock said. 'There would be no gain from running, and I would only be more at risk in unfamiliar surroundings. I do not want to leave the one place that is still familiar to me.'

'All right,' Amanda conceded, putting her hand on Spock's arm. 'I understand you wanting to stay in the house.'

'Sarek, I do not believe I will sleep tonight - there is so little of the night left,' Spock said. 'I suggest you and mother both go to bed.'

He waited for his parents to leave his room, then sat down slowly on the edge of his bed, staring into the darkness around him. As he sat, his foot rustled something on the floor, and he bent down to pick up a piece of folded paper that had been lying under the shadow of the bed. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, trying to feel whether there was the indent of print or writing, but it was hard to discern anything but that one side was formed by a tear. He slipped it into his top drawer, and lay back on his bed, counting out the time in his head. Hopefully this time tomorrow the _Enterprise_ would already be in orbit, and he would have the reassuring presence of his ship and its crew behind him.

******

Spock lay on his bed until he became tired of the inactivity, then, judging it to be the time just before people would be getting up, he went through to the kitchen and began to methodically set the table for breakfast. He went to the fridge to take out a cold, hard loaf of quiva bread and carefully cut a mound of slices, then began the meditative task of preparing fresh vegetables to make into the complicated but refreshing chilled morning soup.

Finally the soup had been blended and cooked, and was sitting in the fridge to cool. Spock took the luxury of replicating a fresh cup of coffee and taking a slice of bread, and went to sit out on the front doorstep as he had as a boy, to listen to the growing sounds of day. Since there had never been any way of seeing over the high garden walls from there, it was as if nothing had changed - he was simply better now at interpreting what he heard from outside.

He took a bite of the dark, malty quiva bread, and sipped at his coffee. Everything sounded perfectly calm and still - it was hard to believe anything sinister or violent had occurred in the hall behind him last night. It was hard to understand why someone would extend to murder to disrupt these talks. Aliens would only gain from a positive outcome, and Vulcans, the only potential losers, were highly unlikely to murder. It would be sensible to contact T'Pring and tell her what had happened. Even more pertinent, it would be sensible to visit T'Ahnu in her new host-home, and speak to her about what had happened. Her prejudices against aliens were deep enough for her to be a suspect. It was simply annoying that to go and see her he would have to rely on the help of someone in the house - without even a cane, he did not relish venturing out into the streets or finding his way to her residence alone.

He turned his head at a noise in the hall - bare feet padding along the wooden boards, where the bodies had lain yesterday. Even without hearing her voice, he could tell it was T'Mir, stepping almost silently closer to him.

'Cousin,' he said, turning very slightly towards the noise.

'Good morning, Spock,' T'Mir said. There was a silence as she came closer, then she said, 'Spock, do you realise a package has been left by the doorstep, on your right?'

'I did not,' he said, turning his head uselessly towards the right. 'Who is it for?'

The woman edged past him, and bent to pick up the parcel.

'T'Mir - be careful,' Spock said quickly. 'We have had murder in the house, and someone came into my room last night and took some of my possessions. We do not know the parcel is legitimate.'

The woman straightened up. Her voice came down from above his head.

'You have had another intruder?'

'Last night. Amanda and I took a walk, and when we returned I found someone had been in my room and taken away those devices which aid me in my blindness. Can you check the details on the package without touching it?'

T'Mir bent down again, then knelt on the hard-packed ground to read the label.

'The package was ordered by Ambassador Sarek at five sixteen this morning - '

'Just after he left me in my room,' Spock nodded. 'The time does correlate.'

'It is sent to you, Spock, from the Vulcan Sight-Aid Company. In fact – ' She ran a finger over the paper. 'I believe that the label is embossed with tactile writing in addition to standard, so if you had known you could have read it. It contains two items - it does not say what. I do not believe the package is suspect.'

'No, it does not seem so. Could you pass it to me, T'Mir?'

She put the small, squat package in his hands, and he carefully tore away the wrapping to find the two objects inside. The first was rounded, and felt cool to the touch, like metal, but when his moved his fingers over the surface he felt small buttons marked with Vulcan touch language. He depressed the one marked time, and a soft female voice said smoothly in Vulcan, 'Eight fifty-nine a.m.'

'Sarek has ordered me a new speaking clock,' he explained to T'Mir, passing the device to her. 'Mine was taken last night.'

He turned his attention to the second object. It had obviously evolved from Vulcan design, not human, but it was just as obviously a cane. He ran his fingers slowly over the folded lengths. It was warm under his hands, a pleasure to hold. The Starfleet-provided cane that had been stolen had been cold plastic, cheaply made, scuffed and frayed with use. This one was carefully crafted of an incredibly light and strong Vulcan stone, polished to complete smoothness, but still with every strata of the stone evident under his fingertips. He knew from seeing other Vulcans with them that the stone used was usually black. He stood up and shook it out to its full length, and walked the length of the garden path to try it out.

'Fascinating,' he said, turning back to T'Mir.

'Cousin?'

'Compared to this, my old cane was muffled in cloth. It transmits vibrations perfectly.'

'Spock, may I ask you a frank question?' T'Mir asked as he came back to the doorstep.

'You may ask,' he nodded.

'You live in almost complete darkness. But I see this morning you have prepared breakfast for everyone in the house. How do you do this?'

'With practice, T'Mir, and training. I learnt in rehabilitation how to cook safely and well for myself.'

'But I understand you did not attend rehabilitation immediately? How did you manage, when it happened?'

'As with any new situation, I adapted - I found new ways of doing things. To pour hot liquids, I learnt to count to judge the level in the cup. To walk along a street, at first I exclusively depended on guidance, but I learnt to rely on assumed norms and the input of my cane. When I have my guide dog, I use her eyes to help me. I learn, T'Mir, just as any person learns in a new situation.'

'Perhaps you are more flexible than most Vulcans. I have noticed a tendency in many of our kind to stay rigidly to one path. I have heard that many who become blind commit suicide.'

'Yes,' Spock nodded. 'I understand the desire,' he said slowly. 'However, I overcame the desire by adapting.'

'Your captain will be here tomorrow,' T'Mir said, as if to change the subject. He could tell that she, like most Vulcans, was deeply bothered by the idea of any further discussion of such an emotional subject as suicide.

'Yes,' Spock nodded. 'It will be useful to have the resources of the ship behind me. However, perhaps I could ask for your assistance at the present time, T'Mir?'

'I am willing to serve, cousin. With what do you need help?'

'I found something in my room last night,' Spock said, picking up the remnants of his package, then rising to his feet and opening the new cane. 'I require your help in identifying it.'

T'Mir followed him to his room, and he felt in his top drawer for the paper he had put in there last night.

'I found this,' he said, holding the paper out to her. 'Without even my Braille translator, I cannot tell if there is writing on it. Could you describe it to me?'

T'Mir took the paper, and he heard her smoothing it out on the top of the chest of drawers. 'The paper is white, ruled with grey lines, for writing on. It has evidently been torn out of a notebook of some sort. It contains a roughly sketched plan of this house, with your room marked by a small asterisk.'

'Is there writing on it?'

'A little, to identify certain rooms.'

'In what language?'

'High Vulcan.'

'Then the intruder was Vulcan, or could speak Vulcan and was sent by a Vulcan. It is interesting it is written in formal Vulcan, not colloquial. I find it perhaps more likely that a non-Vulcan would be careless enough to drop such a piece of evidence.'

Spock stopped, not sure of what to do next. On the ship, with his sight, he would pick up a tricorder and start scanning the room for anomalies, documenting the scene. But here, now, there was no scene - just disjointed smells and sounds and textures that couldn't really be put down in a report. By all accounts, there was nothing to be seen anyway.

'Are you all right, Spock?'

'I hadn't realised quite how much I depended upon my equipment. There is really nothing I can do until my ship arrives.'

He closed his eyes for a moment, going through the possibilities. The only tools he had at hand were his remaining senses - he would simply have to use them more efficiently than usual. That would do for the immediate physical situation. There was really only one thing he could do now that he was deprived of his instruments, other than engaging in the slightly demeaning task of feeling about his floor inch by inch in search of some clue. Spock stood still for a moment, oblivious now to the woman next to him, then he turned abruptly and walked out of the room.

T'Mir followed him curiously, as he disappeared into the study for a few moments, then made for the door. She quickened her pace to catch him up.

'Spock, where are you going?' she asked.

'I must speak to Dr T'Ahnu.'

'It would be easy enough to call her on communications, or page her at the academy. Her host-house is not in the town.'

'Sarek has told me where her new host-house is. I cannot speak to her over a comm screen - I wish to gauge her reactions, and I need to be able to sense her whole body and mind to do that.'

'I will come with you.'

'No. You can aid me better here.' He turned around to face her. 'I would like you to scan my room for abnormalities, DNA samples - any clue to who the intruders were. I also need lists of all the delegates, their host-house or home address, their feelings on the topics - their nationality, etcetera. Could you get this for me, and record the data vocally?'

'Of course, Spock. I shall begin immediately.'

'Mmm.' The Vulcan barely responded, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was the sort of thing that most humans interpreted as rudeness, but to T'Mir it was simply the logical exclusion of outside distraction to concentrate on the problem at hand. A noise from outside caught his attention. 'That will be my cab. Tell my parents where I have gone.'

'Spock,' she called after him, but he had already walked down to the gate. As he got into the cab, she heard him say, 'The nearest shuttle stop, please. When is the next shuttle to SalnKahr?'

T'Mir hesitated in the doorway as the cab sped away, not sure what to do. Amanda would probably despair once she heard that her son had gone off alone to confront T'Ahnu. And Spock would be just as irritated if she ignored his wishes and followed him. Finally she decided that it would be best to carry out Spock's orders rather than to chase him across the district, wasting her time and his. He would manage perfectly, and while he was gone, she would piece together every tiny bit of evidence she could find, ready for him to examine when he returned. Perhaps put together with whatever T'Ahnu said, it would make the fragmented puzzle become clear.


	6. Chapter 6

6

As Spock sat in a window seat on the half-full shuttle, he let his mind drift again. The shuttle pilot would tell him when he reached SalnKahr, and he had already ordered ahead for a cab to meet him, so he didn't have to concentrate on keeping track of stops. He had nothing to do for the hour long journey but think. That was one of the benefits of this blindness, he thought optimistically - it cut out the distractions of the view. The hot sun was intensified through the window, the warmth helping him concentrate. Almost without thinking about it, his face was turned to the window, his eyes fixed but unfocused on the spot of light there that helped him to focus his thoughts.

T'Ahnu had had her placing moved before the double murder. Either she would have had time to organise the crime, or she would know nothing about it except what one might pick up from talk in the academy. Vulcans did not gossip, but they did discuss relevant events between themselves. Of course, the humans had been moved from the place she was now staying at, so she should know what had happened. He doubted that T'Ahnu herself would murder - she was too Vulcan to do that - but maybe not too Vulcan to order off-worlders to do it for her. She would never disgrace the Vulcan race by even presuming that a Vulcan may be willing to murder for her - but maybe persuading humans to murder was only another proof of the dangerous evil they posed.

Spock let the questions revolve in his mind. Was there a reason that the murders happened in his father's house, or would they have happened anyway, if the humans had not been moved? Was this just a campaign against off-worlders, or was it specifically focused on the house of a couple, human and Vulcan, who had broken all unspoken rules of Vulcan exclusivity by marrying, and having a child? Would T'Mir, T'Kal and Seren have been killed if the humans hadn't arrived to make a more symbolic target? Would his parents have been killed if they had entered the house as a couple? Spock couldn't help shuddering at the image of his parents lying on the floor, cut down like that, green and red blood mingling together. That would be the greatest symbol of all - Vulcan and alien - their blood could only mix in death. Spock gripped his own wrist, feeling the veins pulsing under his skin. Their blood had mixed in life, and he was proof of that. Proof that rubbed it in to Vulcan xenophobes every time his name was mentioned on an honours list, or in connection with a new scientific breakthrough...

So many proudly logical Vulcans still felt that humans - off-worlders - were something to be kept from the planet - and he was just a thorn in their side, living proof that humans and Vulcans could exist together. Vulcans were so intelligent, they had attained world peace through complete logic, they used their minds and their disciplines to solve problems galaxy-wide - but they were so reluctant to move on from illogical beliefs, and to accept the other races in the galaxy. If the statement didn't seem so illogical, Spock would have said that the majority of the planet were xenophobes and isolationists. But then there was his father, there were T'Mir, Seren, T'Kal, and so many other Vulcans of his generation who had grown up beginning to accept the galaxy outside. So many had grown up knowing that the esteemed Ambassador had thought a human worthy of marriage, and had even fought science and prejudice to have a child with her.

Spock felt the presence of someone by his arm, and he realised the shuttle had landed again. He had hardly noticed the time pass.

'Commander Spock, we have reached SalnKahr,' the shuttle pilot said politely. 'I will take you to your cab.'

******

'Where is Spock?' Amanda asked almost as soon as she had found one of the annoyingly quiet Vulcans. She was aware of not seeing him on rising, but had been bound to attend the local V'Shar headquarters to answer questions on the murders. The first thing she did on returning was to search first for him, and then for someone who could enlighten her as to where he was. All the Vulcans but Sarek seemed to be tucked away performing their own investigations into what had happened. She had finally found T'Kal and Stalan in their bedroom, using the computer there.

T'Kal turned her head slowly, then swivelled her chair around to face Amanda. Stalan was sitting close next to her, studying the computer screen with complete concentration. She could see that Amanda was worried - a trait that she did not want to encourage - but Ambassador Sarek was also standing with her waiting impassively for the information.

'I am not sure,' she said truthfully. 'I think he has gone to speak to T'Ahnu. Sarek, we have found very few pertinent facts so far about the members of the debating committee.'

'Spock has gone to SalnKahr?' Amanda asked quickly. 'Who went with him?'

T'Kal had turned back to the computer screen, her loose cloak of polished black hair acting like a wall between them.

'He went alone on the shuttle.'

'Is that completely wise in the present situation?' Sarek asked, an eyebrow raised.

'I was not involved in the decision. I have not spent time considering the sagacity of his going. I believe he discussed it with T'Mir.'

'Sarek, of course it's not wise,' Amanda said impatiently. Sometimes Vulcans seemed like children to her, so wrapped up in their own little world of logic that they didn't consider what was going on around them. She was sure that her own two, Sarek and Spock, would go days without eating if she wasn't there, just because they were thinking so hard about something else. 'Where's T'Mir?' she asked.

'She is involved in scanning Spock's room for abnormalities. She has been in and out of his room for the past hour,' Stalan said, not turning. Amanda left at almost a run. 'Sarek, there is a male named Solek whose child was accidentally killed by a human - he may hold a grudge.'

'I will look into it later,' Sarek promised, turning to follow Amanda.

T'Kal and Stalan barely noticed them leave.

'T'Cyla, the biology professor - she seems to enjoy dissecting humans,' Stalan said, pointing at the screen, having the vague feeling he was clutching at straws.

T'Kal shook her head. 'Because she finds their brain patterns fascinating,' she said. 'She specialises in that area - she is conducting a study to determine whether humans have any kind of telepathic centre that could be utilised. You are not researching your facts fully, or checking which I have already eliminated.'

'But there is no one left,' Stalan said, his voice bordering on exasperation. 'We have eliminated everyone.'

'There are two thousand students that we have not yet checked.'

'Because they have no sign of a motive.'

'And we have not checked Amanda or Sarek.' She looked at her husband's face, into his eyes. 'Or ourselves.'

'Amanda would have neither the motive nor the inclination to commit murder,' Stalan said with conviction, 'And I do not think her shock at the murders could have been faked - humans are good at lying, but as far as I know they cannot control their body responses. Amanda was shaking, her pulse was racing - indeed, every physical symptom was concurrent with shock.'

'And Ambassador Sarek?'

'Has made the ultimate gesture towards unity between Earth and Vulcan, by marrying a human and producing a son. The police have also eliminated him from their enquiries. And I am sure that neither of them would ever deliberately destroy their son's possessions and aids to his disability - Amanda was furious at the act, and Sarek seemed extremely disturbed.'

'And Spock? He could possibly hate humans - he seems to try so hard to deny any human weaknesses.'

'He does not hate his mother - there is a strong bond between them. And I believe he denies his humanity because - ' Stalan hesitated, ' - because of people such as myself who malign humans and all they stand for.' His face flushed suddenly, and he fought to regain control. 'Spock has no motive,' he said firmly. 'He has nothing to gain. He works among humans, I hear that his closest friends are humans. He would not kill humans. And he would not destroy his own possessions. Spock seems frustrated by any weakness or inability that he shows, and I'm sure he would not deliberately make that worse.'

T'Kal looked into Stalan's eyes again. For all his reluctance to accept aliens into the academy, he was a good, logical man, who she was sure would never lift a finger to harm anyone. He was simply afraid that alien students would disrupt studies for the Vulcans there.

'Stalan, you would not murder, would you?' she asked. She lowered her eyes, not able to look at him any longer. 'I must ask - we cannot say that we have eliminated everyone if we do not eliminate ourselves. You do oppose admission.'

Stalan put a hand under her chin so she had to look back up at him. 'T'Kal, t'hyla, I think after what I have seen Vulcans are capable of to prevent admission, and after living in a house with a human more logical and gentle than many Vulcans I know, I have begun to believe that aliens are an asset to our planet. I can no longer stand against admission.'

He caught the look of startled surprise in T'Kal's eyes before she could hide it.

'I am pleased,' she said with complete impassivity, her eyes empty again.

'T'Kal,' he said softly, lifting his hand to her face. 'We both know that neither of us could kill - but we both must be sure.'

She read the unasked question in his face, and let her hand mirror his on his face. 'My mind to your mind...'

'My thoughts to your thoughts...'

As T'Kal began to penetrate her husband's mind she was reminded of why she had chosen Stalan from all the other males. She had felt challenged by his complete, unmoving logic and odd, old-fashioned ideas. He had been closed even more since his betrothed consort had rejected him, and she knew that she could help heal his mind, if not his physical scars. He had almost lost his life during koon-ut-kal-if-fee when the blunt end of a lirpa struck the side of his head, cracking his skull neatly. Fortunately, with a less strict overseer than T'Pau, he had been left with his life, if not with complete hearing. She had stood there in the wedding train and watched the fight - she had never even spoken to the man before, but she could not help breaking with tradition and rushing forward to try to stem the flow of blood from Stalan's head when he fell, shouting for a doctor. She had married Stalan two months later, before he even had the partial hearing he had now. Her sister - the bride - did not even have the feeling in her to turn and look at Stalan before she turned to the overseer to have her marriage to the victor confirmed.

With their first meld, it had seemed as if all his mind barriers were made of diamond, and could not even be scratched. But he had welcomed her as if she was the key that could loose his mind from all the prejudices that his aged, old-fashioned parents had passed on to him. The first thing he asked was what her voice sounded like, and she had let laughter bubble into his mind. He was shocked, and withdrew for a moment, trying to understand the noise that he had never heard a Vulcan utter.

Now she began to unfold his mind like the petals of a flower, letting each coloured crystal sliver come past into her mind. He did not understand humans - he did not trust humans because they lied so often; he did not understand their rampant emotions. A human child had once stood outside his window when he was a boy, chanting insults to deliberately provoke him and interrupt his studies. As a student at the academy, three humans had rigged his room's replicator to only produce an odd earth delicacy - banana splits. It had taken him two minutes to fix the problem, and he had developed an odd taste for vegan banana splits, but the view was only reinforced that humans were disruptive - it had been two minutes of study taken away from him. Then his parents had died when a human-piloted passenger ship collided with a freighter at warp - the pilot had fallen asleep for one second, and lent on the controls – a mistake a Vulcan would not make. And he had faintly heard a human cheer as he slipped into unconsciousness in their family arena, and knew that his human opponent was taking hold of his new bride. It was odd that T'Kal's so logical sister should choose to wed a human. By now Stalan would have good reason to hate humans.

T'Kal searched deeper. Stalan was making no attempt to stop her - or to search her mind. Her love of humans was printed so blatantly on every facet of her mind that there was no need for him to probe. He would only find her fascination and joy at being around these odd, impulsive people that she had so much to learn from. And he trusted her as she knew she should trust him. She could not hide her guilt at that, and he reassured her, letting her mind come into his further. He could only feel happiness at having her share his every thought - he needed to share everything with her.

She read his horror at the sudden smell that had forced itself through the door at the same instant his damaged ears caught the sound of someone screaming. He had not heard the transporter or the weapons fire. Stalan had leapt to his feet and gone to the door, to see Amanda standing and staring at mutilated bodies from which red blood was pouring. He had dragged her back into the room to try to save her any more distress, and felt in his mind her terrible shock and grief at the loss of two human lives. He had gathered up his resolve to find his way past the bodies to reach the comm and call the police, while she and T'Mir comforted the shaken Amanda. Seren had stood in the doorway and stared for a moment at the bodies before coming back to his seat, his face pale at the nauseating smell. Seren was properly appalled, as a Vulcan should be – but quite useless in this emergency either to tend to Amanda or help with the situation outside. Stalan had actually had to walk through the blood, and T'Kal felt his revulsion both at the physical smell and at the idea of what had happened. She found it hard to bear his deep, confused sadness and shock at the ending of two intelligent lives, even if those lives were human.

Stalan soothed her, and let her in further.

She broke through into somewhere full of light and colour, and she felt suddenly as if she were swimming somewhere with no gravity - this was his sudden realisation that his parents' values were not necessarily the right ones, and that alien lives and therefore minds had as much value as Vulcan ones. Now he could hardly understand why he had ever wished to exclude these intelligent, caring people from the academy. His mind was holding a phrase he had learnt from T'Kal's own mind. *_Stalan, it is not logical to push away those who can teach us so much about the galaxy, and about our own lives. How can we see ourselves as we truly are without the eyes of aliens?*_

T'Kal smiled into his mind, and felt him shiver as if she had stroked a hand down his back. Even though he knew he could trust her, she reversed her probing, and let him come down into her mind - it was too hard to bear his unquestioning trust, and not feel the pleasure of him gently lifting away the barriers of her mind.

******

T'Mir was standing in Spock's room slowing turning in a circle, holding a scanner before her, whilst Seren sat at Spock's desk busy logging and analysing everything that the scan turned up.

'T'Mir, how could you let him go?' Amanda asked heatedly as soon as she entered the room.

T'Mir didn't look up from her scanner. She was obviously absorbed in her task. 'You are speaking of Spock?'

'Of course!'

'I saw no logical reason to stop him,' T'Mir said calmly, carrying on with her scan. 'He is a fully competent adult, and I have no power of control over him.'

'You could have reasoned with him.'

'Spock was speaking perfect reason. I cannot argue with logic.'

'T'Mir is right that Spock is an adult,' Sarek agreed softly. 'He must be allowed the same independence as we allowed him with sight. Part of that independence is making one's own decisions.'

'Sarek, Spock's almost totally blind. That's not normal. Blind people can usually can tell the direction of light, or see a little clearly - something. Spock doesn't have anything, no clues - just a tiny blur of light. He doesn't even have his dog with him.'

'There must be a first time for Spock to go out alone, Amanda,' Sarek rationalised. 'You would not wish him to always be bound to familiar surroundings unless he has a guide or his dog. He cannot come to harm on a shuttle, or in an inhabited town.'

'Look at what happened in our house, Sarek!' Amanda reminded him heatedly. 'This is an inhabited town. This is a safe house. *_Should_* be a safe house. Sarek, Spock could have been killed last night.'

'I know, my wife,' Sarek nodded. 'But he was not. And if that is true, then he is no safer here than at SalnKahr. Can you imagine how Spock would feel if his parents turned up on the doorstep to bring him home? Whether his decision to go alone was ill considered or not, it was his decision. If he returns safely, then it was the right decision.'

'Of course I wouldn't go and drag him back here, but I'm allowed to worry about him.'

'You know that worry is detrimental to your health. Amanda, if he has not returned by the evening, we will contact T'Ahnu, but I am sure he will be fine. Meanwhile, we may as well help with the investigation - I am going to the academy to speak to some people.'

'Sarek, how can you?'

'It is the only way to find anything out. I shall see you in three hours - unless you wish to come with me?'

'Of course I don't,' she said. 'I may as well help here, wait for Spock.'

'Are T'Kal and Stalan in their room?' T'Mir asked. 'I have a little more data - I doubt it will help, but it is best to have all the facts.'

Sarek paused in his stride towards the door. 'They are in there,' he nodded, but he stopped her with a raised hand as she stepped forward. 'I would not go in.' His face began to look disapproving. 'I think they are - bonding.'

'Sarek, weren't listening!' Amanda asked him, shocked.

'I could not help but hear,' Sarek said flatly. 'But of course I did not listen after my initial realisation. In any case, they would best be left alone for a while.'

'I don't think it is highly important data,' T'Mir said, shaking her head. 'It is not urgent. Amanda, would you be interested – ?'

'No,' Amanda said firmly and succinctly. 'I need to go check the larder for dinner,' she said, following Sarek to the door. She was getting tired of hearing the facts of the murder again and again, and being asked to describe every detail to endless blank-faced Vulcans.

'If you could bring us an additional computer, the analysing would progress much faster,' Seren told her as she left.

'I'll do that,' she said distractedly. Then she realised that T'Mir had stopped her scan, and was looking straight at her. She gave the smallest hint of a smile, and it warmed Amanda all over.

'I am sure Spock will be fine,' she said, 'But I really could not stop him. The worst thing to do to one of my people is to make them do nothing at all. And I believe that he can manage perfectly. It is an insult to him to think that a journey on a shuttle is beyond his capabilities.'

'I know, T'Mir. I'll go get that computer before Seren's analysed everything in this sector.'

T'Mir and Seren both raised eyebrows, and Amanda could hear them say it before they did - 'That statement is not logical, Amanda.'

******

The cab pilot left Spock outside the door of the house he was seeking, and promised to return in an hour to pick him up, and to contact the authorities if he was not there. Spock raised his hand tentatively to find the doorchime, assuming it would be in the logical place. It was, and a few seconds later soft footsteps approached the door, and it opened.

'I am looking for Dr T'Ahnu,' Spock said, 'I believe she is staying here?'

'She is.' It was a woman, young sounding. 'Forgive me for asking, but are you carrying any weapons?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'No. Am I expected to?'

'The doctor has been connected with some serious crimes - we fear for her safety.'

Spock nodded in understanding. 'I have come to speak to her about those crimes - she was staying at my parents' home. May I ask your name, Ma'am? I am Commander Spock, of Starfleet.'

'T'Lea. A student at the academy. Sir – do you have trouble with your eyes?' she asked a little awkwardly.

'I am blind,' Spock nodded.

There was the almost obligatory moment of surprise and hesitation, then she asked, 'May I help you into the house? There is a step.'

Spock nodded. Her hand clasped round his elbow, guiding him up the small step. She led him up a passage, and into a room on his left. The scent of _lida_ flowers filled the air. He imagined there was an arrangement on a table somewhere.

'Please come and sit down. The doctor went out for a short walk - she should be back very soon.'

Spock sat down on the chair she showed him to, and folded his cane.

'I will fetch refreshment,' the woman told him. 'The journey must have been hot from ShiKahr.'

Spock nodded, then refocused his thoughts on the house he was in as the woman left the room. The air was cool and fresh in here - he could hear the slight hum of air conditioning, keeping the air cooler than most Vulcans liked it. He realised that the woman had arranged him in a chair near a window - there was a warm beam of sunlight over most of his body. The chair he sat in was spartan, but comfortable. Then the woman returned, and he took the cold glass that she held out to him.

'May I ask what you study at the academy?' he asked as she sat down.

'Stellar physics, Commander. I was pleased for the opportunity to have some of my teachers in the house. And then Caroline Seaton and her husband were killed...'

'In my parents' hallway,' Spock said. 'My mother witnessed the attack. It has shaken her - my mother is human.'

'Then you must be Amanda Grayson's son - I have met her briefly, with Ambassador Sarek.'

'Correct,' Spock nodded.

'Commander, I understand you are concerned about this murder - but why are you here?' T'Lea asked curiously. 'Surely the V'Shar - ?'

'Caroline Seaton was on a sabbatical from Starfleet,' Spock explained. 'She was a member of my ship's crew. T'Lea, two humans were killed in my hallway, then in the very early hours of the next morning - seven point three hours later - I came into my room to find that my possessions had been vandalised. The intruders were apparently targeting my blindness to demoralise me or to impede my actions. The apparent theme to both events was to discourage anyone thinking of voting to allow non-Vulcans into the academy - but sample testing shows the murders were committed by humans.'

'By humans?' The Vulcan couldn't keep the shock out of her voice. 'Why would humans murder their own kind?'

'Money or some other form of personal gain, I would assume,' Spock theorised, turning his cold glass in his hands. 'They may have been simple assassins, hired by the person or persons trying to make the point. Or perhaps Vulcan isolationists could pair up with their human equivalents, in an effort to separate both planets.'

'But why come to see T'Ahnu? She left your house before the killings.'

'Yes, because she had made prejudiced verbal attacks on both myself and my mother. My father decided that it would be best if she left.'

'You believe that she is killing people?'

Spock shook his head. 'I doubt that she personally is killing people - but that is why I want to speak to her. It could simply be that she is an old-fashioned person with stricter moral codes.'

'I am sure she will return soon,' the woman said again.

Spock nodded, relaxing back into the chair. It was twenty minutes before he heard the door open and shut. The footsteps that entered were slow and slightly shuffling, coming towards the room they were in.

'I imagine that is the doctor,' Spock said, turning his ear towards the sound.

'I believe so,' T'Lea said. 'Dr T'Ahnu, you have a visitor,' she said as the woman came to the door. T'Ahnu raised an eyebrow as she saw who the visitor was, then she swept on into the room without any comment, and sat down, arranging the black and purple folds of her traditional Vulcan cloak around her.

'Commander Spock,' she nodded stiffly, when she was settled in her chair. 'You must have travelled a long way. I am surprised to see you here.'

'Surprised?' Spock echoed. 'Two people were murdered in my house just after you left. It is logical that I should wish to speak to you about it.'

'I was surprised to see you here alone, Spock,' T'Ahnu rephrased her statement.

'I am capable of mobility,' Spock said rather coldly, 'Although recent events have conspired to prevent that.'

'I do not understand.'

Spock frowned slightly. 'Last night some person destroyed everything that helped me with my mobility - they targeted only myself, no one else. T'Ahnu, I will come straight to the point - yesterday two humans were murdered in my house, my room was broken into on the same night. I must speak to everyone concerned with my house and who opposes aliens' entry to the academy - you are one of those people, even though you decided to leave the house.'

'Your father urged me to change residence to protect your sensibilities,' T'Ahnu corrected him.

'And the humans came to our house to make room for you here,' Spock said, ignoring her insinuation.

T'Ahnu sat up straighter in her chair, preparing for a confrontation. 'Commander Spock, you seem to be working up to accusing me of murder.'

'I am accusing you of nothing. Logically I must ask you if you sent someone to murder the two humans who were staying here.'

'I do not like humans - they are emotional and illogical, and ultimately warlike and destructive. I find it disturbing to be near them, with their unguarded feelings and wild, illogical ways of what they call reasoning. But I would not murder them, or send someone to murder them - that would merely be putting into practice all of the illogical motivations that drive humans, and I will not become like a human.'

'And you would not send someone to my house to destroy my possessions?'

'That would also be illogical. Why should I wish to do something that would force a Vulcan to degenerate into emotionalism?'

'You are mistaken, T'Ahnu - I have not degenerated into emotionalism.'

'No - maybe you are more Vulcan than I give you credit for.' The woman relaxed again, clasping her hands in her lap. 'Commander Spock, I did not murder anyone, but I assure you that I will do everything in my power to discover who did. This is just the kind of thing of which I seek to rid Vulcan.'

Spock nodded, his face turned to the patch of light he could make out through the window, and T'Ahnu asked sharply, 'Commander Spock, are you paying attention?'

'Of course.' Spock turned back to face her. 'However, since I cannot see you, logically it makes little difference whether my face is turned to you or not.'

'Of course.'

'T'Lea, my cab will not return for another five minutes. I am sorry that I must impose...'

'It is no imposition, I assure you,' the woman smiled.

'May I use your comm system?' he asked. 'I must make an additional journey when I leave here, and I should inform my family - they will be expecting me back.'

'Yes, Commander,' T'Lea nodded. 'I will show you where it is.'

'When you have done that, I would like to hear all about these murders and trespass, Spock,' T'Ahnu said, 'As one of those opposed to alien students, I may know a little more about my supporters than you. Checking histories does not always reveal every nuance of a person's character.'

*****

The additional journey Spock had mentioned was a return to the Science Academy, to speak to T'Pring. The trip necessitated a change of shuttle, but Spock was relieved to find how easy that was on Vulcan, compared to the chaos he had experienced on his journey via human-run systems to the planet. The shuttle stopped directly outside the Academy, and Spock only had to find his way up the short path to the front entrance, a path he remembered well, and ask for assistance from a member of staff at the desk.

He could sense T'Pring this time even before he had reached the door to her room in the academy. He dismissed the man guiding him as he sensed her presence, saying, 'Thank you, I can manage from here.'

As he remembered it, there were three steps up into her corridor, and then roughly one hundred metres to walk to her door. With the strong sense of her presence, it would be hard to miss her. It was inevitable that after an almost thirty year long mind link with the woman that he would be able to sense her. At the end of koon-ut-kal-if-fee he had been almost stunned by the blank in his mind that the dormant knowledge of the woman had once occupied, but he knew that some of that blankness had been due to his revulsion at her. The mind link had never been formally dissolved. Just for now, the awareness of her could be useful.

He stepped up the three steps, unconsciously letting a hand trail along the wall rather than relying on the cane to keep him straight. As he moved up into the corridor a door opened and closed, and he heard footsteps moving rapidly this way. T'Pring, obviously preoccupied.

He waited until she was closer, then nodded his head formally, and said, 'T'Pring, I would speak with you.'

There was a slight hesitation as she reached him, then, 'Spock... I am in a hurry. Be brief.'

'I cannot,' Spock said flatly.

'Then come.'

She moved down the steps and on down the corridor, and Spock quickly unfolded his cane to follow her, grateful for the flatness and emptiness of these passages. It was evident she was not going to slow for him, so eventually he said with a degree of exasperation, 'T'Pring, do not make me beg for your guidance.'

He could feel her surprise as she stopped short and turned to face him. 'You can see nothing, can you, Spock?' she asked, a softer tone mellowing her voice.

'Not enough to follow you at such a pace without guidance.'

'Unusual.'

'But unfortunately true,' Spock countered.

She paused again, and he could feel her eyes raking over him, resting on his own sightless ones. He knew that if he relaxed his guard, he could even get a vague idea of what she saw – but that would be an unforgivable intrusion.

'I assume this is about the violence,' T'Pring said shortly. 'I am bound to be at a concert in the harmonic temple in your home town, Spock. I promised one of my pupils I would attend. We can speak there.'

As the doors to T'Pring's skimmer opened on landing Spock's attention was captured by the sound of voices drifting from the building nearby, becoming louder as they approached. It was singing - Vulcan singing that sounded odd and alien after years of hearing human songs on the ship. The voices wavered on, altogether harmonic but each voice individual, and Spock realised that this must be a choir in the final stages of development, almost at the perfection that took years to reach. It was a thin, cool, grey sound, like refreshing rain, beautiful and poignant, almost ghostlike.

'We are late,' T'Pring said, locking the doors to the skimmer. 'You walk slowly, Spock.'

Spock resisted retort, knowing it was a statement rather than a criticism. As T'Pring came to his side he touched his fingers to her arm. She was walking at a more sedate pace now she knew the concert had already begun. As they entered the doors to the choir building the sound abruptly magnified, until it seemed to shimmer around the pair.

Spock followed T'Pring up to a gallery seat, bringing back to his mind the appearance of the building. It was a big domed structure built only for voices, not instruments. It was constructed with intricate knowledge of acoustics and echo, laced with holes in the architecture that both amplified the sound and spread it into the air outside for 360 degrees. It was a beautiful building - and it was odd hearing the encompassing sound of the voices without seeing the edifice enclosing them.

'They are improving, don't you think?' T'Pring asked very quietly as they sat.

Spock listened again, and nodded. There was a subtle difference to the last time he had heard the choir. The voices were more harmonic, a harmony achieved by the linking of the singers' minds - not in the deep mind meld, but in a light web of joined thought.

Inside, the building was cool and relaxing. Spock kept his cane unfolded, touching his hands lightly around it to feel the vibration of song that rippled through the floor, and silently picking out voices that he recognised. He knew by custom that there should be at least five hundred in the building singing, ranging from old to young, male to female, teachers, pupils, labourers - any Vulcan with the promise and ability to sing in this way. Spock made a mental note to obtain a recording of this singing to listen to on the ship, to add to his slight stock of Vulcan music there.

He closed his eyes, letting the voices lift him until he was carried up above everything else, and the singing was all he needed. No longer did he feel the sensory starvation that his blindness brought on him. He was not quite sure how much time passed in that way. This type of meld inspired singing was supposed to involve the minds and thoughts of the listeners, and the fact he had become abstracted and detached was merely an indication of the level of achievement of the singers. He was almost oblivious to T'Pring sitting beside him now, until the woman said quietly;

'IDIC, Spock.'

He blinked, and refocused his attention on her. 'I beg your pardon, T'Pring?'

'This is an example of perfect harmony, although each voice is different.'

Spock nodded silently.

'My pupil has finished his rotation now. We may leave,' she said, and he realised with a start that even considering what she had just said, T'Pring had not come here to listen to the singing. She had come to fulfil an obligation, and once that obligation was filled, she would leave.

Outside they began walking through the half-empty, early evening streets of the town, Spock following T'Pring without asking where they were going. They seemed to be aiming in the direction of his parents' house. Their footsteps echoed emptily on the buildings around, the sound bouncing back faintly in the thin air.

'Speak,' T'Pring prompted him.

'The threat you warned me of was carried out. Two human supporters of alien admission were killed in my parents' hallway. My own possessions were vandalised.'

'I see,' T'Pring nodded. 'And you wished to speak to me because - ?'

'You are our only link with these terrorists, T'Pring. You have been directly contacted. Two murders have occurred, and could have become three.'

'Three, Spock?'

'My room was entered in the early hours of the morning. I am assuming that the intruders expected me to be present. When they discovered my absence, they did what they could to harm me, by removing those things which aid me in my blindness, and imposing a certain degree of helplessness on me.'

T'Pring paused very briefly in her step. 'I had not intended to, but I will walk with you back to your parents' home, Spock.'

Spock shook his head in exasperation. 'I am not a child, T'Pring. I will be able to find my own way home.'

'I married Stonn - but that does not erase the bond I formed with you. I do not wish you to be killed needlessly. I will not leave you to walk blind through the streets when I am aware that someone has tried to kill you.'

'T'Pring, I am quite capable – '

'No matter how much you stress your independence, you must be aware of the logic of having a sighted accomplice at a time like this,' T'Pring replied, a note of almost frustrated insistence modulating the cut-glass tone of the woman's voice. 'You would not know if even I held a phaser to you right now. At any rate, you wish to speak of these murders. We may as well walk towards your home while we talk as anywhere.'

'Walk with me if you wish to,' Spock finally allowed her.

'I shall,' T'Pring responded, in lieu of a useless nod. 'I had been considering contacting you anyway, Spock, but I was unsure of how to without calling your home directly. I have had another message urging my presence at a meeting. I ignored it as I did the last, but I believe that my lack of response rather than a direct refusal has left them believing that I am on the side of non-admission.'

'And you are not on the side of non-admission?'

'I am endeavouring to stay separate from a discussion that will impinge upon my work. However, if called upon to vote, I would vote for admission. I see no logic in exclusion.'

Spock was silent for a moment, and the only sound was their footsteps ringing on the hard sidewalk. After a long consideration, he said, 'T'Pring, if you are contacted again, I would strongly suggest attending the meeting. Deaths have occurred. We need all the information that we can garner on these people.'

'I must also consider my own personal safety, Spock,' T'Pring mentioned softly. 'It is possible that these people have ulterior motives in wishing to speak with me.'

'Such as?'

'Kidnap, mutilation – murder. They have not shown themselves to be fearful of violence.'

'I see no reason why your safety should be compromised, if the meeting is held in a public space, as the first one was suggested to be. And if needs be, I am sure I could arrange some kind of protection.'

'Without betraying my confidence?' T'Pring asked coolly. 'You are hardly in a condition to oversee the meeting yourself, Spock.'

Spock inclined his head in a curt nod. 'Point taken. But you are concerned enough to speak to me, T'Pring. Surely you are concerned enough to aid the capture of murderers?'

'I will await another message,' T'Pring said finally. 'If I decide to agree to meet – and I am still not convinced of the logic of such a decision – I will send you a communication via a messenger.'


	7. Chapter 7

7

'I am convinced that T'Ahnu did not commit or order the murders,' Spock said on his return.

T'Pring had left him at a point just down the road, standing just behind an overhanging shrub which obscured her from view. Spock thought these spy tactics a little absurd, but said nothing. T'Pring was obviously concerned about retaining respect in her profession, and he had no reason yet to let anyone know the name of the person he had been meeting.

Amanda was so pleased that he had come home having managed perfectly well on his journey that she didn't mention the worry she had felt. At the moment Spock was sitting at the kitchen table while she made real coffee, the old-fashioned way, and she was just glad to have him there.

'Can you be that sure?' Amanda asked from by the worksurface, unconvinced. 'Did she have some proof?'

'She has shown me no concrete proof. But whatever her prejudices may be, T'Ahnu seems dedicated to eradicating violence and crime on Vulcan. She assured me that she would not commit such a crime, and I believe her word.'

'Spock, if she did order the murders, she wouldn't be beyond a lie,' his mother pointed out.

'I sensed no deception. Of course I can never be a hundred percent sure, but if I required such a level of proof almost everyone would be under suspicion. She also tried to help with the investigation - she went through every member of the opposing side, and those others in the academy who do not like aliens, and listed their characters and motivations. It was most interesting.'

'I hope it helps,' Amanda said. She hesitated a moment, then came to sit next to him at the table. 'Spock - ' she began

'Yes, mother?'

'Spock, I don't want to tell you not to go out alone. I *_can't* _tell you not to, I know that. But - ' She took his hand and put something small and oblong into it. Spock ran his fingers over it, feeling its smooth plastic surface and rubberised buttons on the face. 'Could you at least take this cell-com with you? Just so you can call anyone if you need to.'

Spock sat silently for a moment, considering the logic of the suggestion. It wasn't as if it was unusual to carry such a device. Most people owned a cell-com, and he was used to carrying his communicator when on ship business. 'Is it adapted for a sightless user?'

'It's not. It's an old one of mine. But I thought if I set it to basic use and take you through the controls you could at least use it to dial out and receive calls.'

He nodded, putting the cell-com back on the table. 'If you instruct me in its use I will carry it with me when I leave the house,' he told his mother. 'It is logical for you to be able to contact me in the event of an emergency.'

'Thank you, Spock,' she said warmly, standing up. She kissed him before he could protest on the top of his head, then went back to the worksurface to carry on with the coffee. 'Oh, the _Enterprise_ called while you were out, Spock, and – '

She broke off at the soft chime of the doorbell, then pulled some more mugs out of the cupboard above her.

'Can you get that, Spock? I'll finish off these drinks.'

'Of course, mother,' he nodded, pushing back his chair. He made his way through the hall, and opened the door cautiously. He felt naturally suspicious after the recent events, and unwilling to open the door widely to a caller he could not see.

'Well, goodday, Spock,' a warm southern accent greeted him before he could speak. A hand reached forward and clenched at his shoulder, and Spock became aware of a face very close to his. 'How you treatin' those eyes?'

'Dr McCoy, you have been drinking,' Spock said by way of greeting, stepping back from his hand. He indicated the hallway behind him. 'Come in Captain, Doctor. I am somewhat surprised at my mother's forethought, but she is making coffee. I believe the doctor needs some.'

'Good to see you, Spock,' Kirk said, stepping up to touch his arm. 'And I don't think Bones is that drunk - it just took a while at immigration, so he tided himself over with the replicator at the transporter station.'

'The transporter station?' Spock questioned him, leading their way into the kitchen.

'I had to set up those beds in your room after all, Spock,' his mother said as they entered. 'I was beginning to say before, that all open transports have been prohibited after what happened yesterday, so - '

'We thought it would be easier to stay down here,' Kirk said, taking the seat and cup of hot coffee offered to him, 'rather than go through that rigmarole every time we wanted to beam down. Amanda kindly offered us a bed - in your room, if you don't mind.'

'I see,' Spock said, turning his head towards the faint smell of alcohol that McCoy released every time he breathed. 'Do you have luggage, Captain?'

'In the hall,' Kirk said. 'Don't worry about it for now.'

But Spock had already got to his feet and gone into the hall, pondering on how many days he would be able to stand of having McCoy in the room when he went to sleep, and McCoy still in the room when he woke up.

******

Amanda left the two Starfleet men in her kitchen while she went after Spock to set up the beds in his room. It seemed best to do that with him around, to arrange things to suit him best. McCoy watched her leave with his hands cupped around his mug of coffee, then returned his gaze to the dark liquid. He had expected to be too hot to drink it, but he felt almost chilled after the heat outside. It amazed him how cool this house was inside, without the aid of fans or ventilation systems, and with the full force of the Vulcan sun beating down on the roof tiles. He looked up to meet Kirk's eyes.

'I think I scared him, Jim,' he smiled.

'I think *_I'm*_ scared,' Kirk grinned back. 'The thought of mediating between you too, breaking up pillow fights... It'll be just like summer camp, Bones.'

'You think Spock ever went to summer camp?'

'Maybe, if it involved extra interstellar-physics and logic training. Can't you imagine him, sleeping in a dormitory with ten other boys and a toy sehlat?'

McCoy chuckled softly, then carried on drinking his coffee in silence. Despite the desperate seriousness of their errand on Vulcan, the first couple of hours on an alien planet like this always felt like something approaching a holiday, and he intended to start what he had begun at the transporter station, and relax. He downed the dregs, then went to the open kitchen door.

'Going somewhere?' Kirk asked.

'Just lookin' - care to come?'

Kirk followed him out into the hall, tracing a hand along the cool plasterwork of the wall.

'I never expected Spock's home to be quite this grand,' he admitted, eyeing the sparse but expensively tasteful ornamentation around them. 'I forget about Sarek's status. I guess he's on a good salary.'

'Jim, would you look at this,' McCoy whistled softly, glancing in through a door in the hallway. The room was dark, warm, and lined with books. Too big to be called a study, it was more like a library-cum-music room. There was a lyre on a stand nearby, much like Spock's, and sitting in the middle of the space was a grand piano, with sheet music lying on the closed lid. McCoy slipped in through the door and walked up to the piano. It was made of walnut wood, and polished to such a sheen that there seemed to be a millimetre-thick transparent layer above the swirls and grain of the wood. As he pulled the stool out and opened the lid over the keys, Jim laughed softly.

'You're not going to pretend an old country doctor like you can play a grand piano?' he asked.

McCoy picked up the music, shook it out, and placed it on the rack under the lid. He studied it for a second, but it was like a foreign language to him.

'Not me, Jim - unless you mean Chopsticks? Always was good with the kazoo, though.'

Kirk laughed. 'You think Sarek can play?' he wondered, coming to look over McCoy's shoulder as he gingerly let one finger down on a pristine key.

'The piano is my mother's,' said a deep, resonant voice from the door, and Jim looked over his shoulder to see Spock standing in the doorway, with that disconcerting look where he seemed to have his ears more directed to his friends than his face. 'She taught Sarek to play.'

'Go on then, Spock - give us a tune,' McCoy said, running a hand lightly over keys that yielded easily under the pressure. 'I know you can.'

Spock came forward into the room, and waited for McCoy to vacate the seat. As the doctor moved aside, he seated himself, and let his fingers rest onto the cool mock-ivory of the keys, reminding himself of the feel of the instrument after so long at the Vulcan lyre. The familiarity of it reassured him that blindness would pose no problems here.

'What would you have me play, Doctor?' he asked, half-playfully. 'Although you may find my repertoire restrictive.'

'Why, Spock, I thought you could play anything, just like that,' McCoy needled him.

'I used to sight-read,' Spock said rather reprovingly. 'Unfortunately I am constrained to memory.'

'Well - what you like, then,' McCoy said, half-apologetically.

Spock rested his hands over the keys, and closed his eyes. Kirk guessed that he was looking back into his vast eidetic memory, perhaps seeking out a glimpse of sheet-music he had played from once. Then he began to play, fingers slipping from key to key without hesitation.

It was like - something Kirk couldn't describe. Wind in the trees, perhaps, or a forest stream. No. That was too twee. It was just beautiful music, that made him want to sit down in one of the deep armchairs in here, close his eyes, and sink himself into the sound. Then McCoy amazed him by saying;

'Chopin.'

'The Nocturne in B Flat Minor,' Spock nodded, continuing to play. 'My mother likes to hear it played, which is why I remember it better than most. Jim, could you close the door?' he asked.

Kirk moved across the room to push the heavy door shut, realising that this room must be almost soundproof to those outside.

'What is it, Spock?' he asked, coming back to stand behind his shoulder.

Spock did not cease playing. 'I have not told you everything that has happened here. We have had another break in, last night – '

'Your mother told me on the comm earlier,' Kirk nodded. 'Hence the new cane.'

Spock nodded. 'The second thing is confidential, however. I am already breaking a confidence by speaking of it to you. I need your assurance that you will not break it in turn.'

'Of course we won't,' Kirk told him. 'Bones?'

'Scout's honour,' McCoy nodded. 'Or surgeon's, if you'd prefer.'

'Scout's will do,' Spock said. 'Although I cannot imagine that you ever were one, McCoy. I was contacted just previous to the murders by a teacher from the academy, who was concerned about events surrounding the talks. She believed violence would occur - and was proved right.'

'So why all the mystery about her, Spock?' McCoy asked. 'She thought something, she was right.'

'She was doing what you would term - following a hunch,' Spock said rather uncomfortably. 'She feared it would jeopardise her reputation in the academy. Perhaps she also did not wish it to be known publicly that she had been contacted by someone assuming she would violently oppose non-Vulcan entry to the academy herself. I hasten to add she holds no such view - although I have attempted to persuade her to act the part of an oppositionist, to tempt further contact.'

'And why the secrecy around her identity, Spock?' Kirk asked rather impatiently. 'You've told us everything else.'

Spock stayed silent as his fingers pressed out the final tapering notes of the piece he was playing. He allowed the resonance to die away, then turned towards the captain on the stool.

'I believe you know her, Captain. You too, Doctor. Her name is T'Pring.'

There was a moment of stunned silence, then McCoy broke it.

'Spock, you can't be serious. That cold, calculating, devious b-'

'She was almost my wife, Doctor,' Spock cut across him.

'Spock, you can't feel for her, after what she did?' Kirk asked incredulously.

'I do not feel for her, in the way that you suggest,' Spock replied, aware that he was verging into complicated territory. 'However, I do not hate her, either. I was bonded to her. I could not live with her, but I do find her an intriguing companion. On the surface, at least, Sarek's choice of our bonding was a correct one.'

'But T'Pring,' McCoy groaned.

'Doctor, I am not suggesting that I wish to be wed to the woman,' Spock said in exasperation. 'I am merely saying that I do not find her company as trying as I had expected it to be. Personal relationships aside, she is our best link to finding out who killed two people in this house last night. I tell you her name only because I believe it best you know all the facts of the situation, Captain. At some point, I shall have to introduce her to you. We need her help.'

'That may be true. But, do you think she'd be willing, Spock?'

'She has made it clear that she is quite *_un*_willing to involve herself. I believe it will necessitate a certain amount of persuasion. I believe that persuasion would be best performed by me alone. I have already betrayed her trust, but I believe she will be more easily persuaded before she realises that.'

'So, what are you gonna do, Spock?' McCoy asked. 'Turn on the charm, dim the lights...?'

'She is married to Stonn, Doctor,' Spock retorted with a degree of asperity. 'Would you use such measures as adultery to elicit the help of your ex-wife?'

He turned back to face the piano again and steepled his fingers before his face, appearing to gaze at the arch they made.

'I simply have to persuade her logically,' he said finally. 'She has already shown a disposition to help by contacting me.'

He returned his fingers to the piano keys, and began to play a piece Kirk recognised - what they had thought to be an undiscovered Brahms manuscript in the house of a man named Flint, that had turned out to be both by Brahms and Flint, they being one and the same man. It brought an indistinct feeling of happiness to him, mingled with an odd sadness. He remembered dancing with a beautiful woman to that music, but found an odd blank in his mind when he tried to remember anything about her. As if Spock had suddenly realised what the playing might mean to Kirk, he stopped mid-bar, and slipped back into another nocturne by Chopin.

'Perhaps we should go see T'Pring together,' Kirk suggested, shaking off the odd feelings provoked by the previous tune. 'She might respond to a little Starfleet pressure.'

'I find that highly unlikely,' Spock said wryly. 'I thought I might attempt a tactic of which undoubtedly McCoy would approve. I have considered inviting her to dine with me.'

The muffled 'hurrumph' from the corner indicated that McCoy did not approve.

'That might not be so good if you don't want to be overheard,' Kirk said doubtfully. 'Have you considered - a walk in the park, maybe? We could even be there, out of sight, just in case you need us. Especially after recent events…'

Spock hesitated for a moment, and there was no sound in the room but the piano. He realised that in his human way, Kirk wanted to be actively involved now he was here - and he could see no real harm in his presence, as long as T'Pring did not catch sight of him. She would surely remember his face, as the man she had virtually condemned to death during Spock's failed marriage ceremony. He was becoming weary of this constant need of his companions to protect him – but perhaps Jim – and T'Pring - were right. In the current climate, a pair of sighted eyes was a bonus.

'I do not need accompaniment for such a meeting, sir,' he said firmly. 'However, if I can persuade her to accept your involvement, your presence could be useful later. I have attempted to persuade T'Pring to agree to a meeting if she were contacted again by the oppositionists. She was reluctant to expose herself to danger, and pointed out quite astutely that I could not act the part of guard to her meeting. If she accepted your knowledge of her position, you could perhaps act this part.'

At that moment the door opened almost silently, and Kirk looked up to see the dignified figure of Sarek standing in the light from the hall. There was a slight falter in Spock's playing, as if he was considering whether or not to stop - but then he continued.

'Spock, you are back,' Sarek acknowledged him. 'Captain Kirk, Dr McCoy, welcome to my home.'

With the pleasantries over, he crossed the room to the piano, to face his son.

'Spock, I have had a fascinating afternoon at the academy. The analysts there have determined that the intruder in your room was a female - probably skilled at sabotage and breaking and entry, since no one in the house woke as your belongings were being destroyed. But they still cannot identify that female - or the human murderers. Every Vulcan criminal that fits the criteria is either incarcerated, or reformed and living a productive life.'

'Hmm,' Spock nodded. 'And I do not believe that T'Ahnu had a part in the crimes. So it seems that we have found out mostly negative information. Perhaps you could find out more with instruments from the ship, Jim?' he asked, angling his head toward Kirk.

'Well, I could certainly have someone beam down and do a scan of your room...'

Sarek stepped forward silently, the movement only perceptible by his intake of breath. 'A word, my son.'

As Spock got to his feet, Kirk moved to him and touched him on the arm, saying, 'We'll go sort our luggage out, Spock.'

Spock waited until they had left the room, then turned to his father.

'Sarek,' he nodded, as an invitation to speak.

'Your relationship with these humans, Spock,' Sarek began. 'It is – close?'

Spock waited for a moment, then nodded silently. 'Yes, it is close.'

He reflected that Sarek had never really seen his interaction with the humans around him. On the journey to Babel Spock even admitted to himself that he had been doing what McCoy would call *_pulling the Super-Vulcan routine*_, and after that Sarek had been mainly hospitalised. Sarek would assume his relationship with his shipmates was that of any other Vulcan around humans - totally reserved and unremittingly professional.

'But Kirk, for example, is your superior - your commanding officer, and yet you use a familiar diminutive to refer to him rather than his rank and surname. Respect for his rank alone dictates – '

'He is my friend,' Spock interrupted quietly. 'In certain circumstances respect can be alloyed with familiarity.'

'I fear that you interact too closely with those who are neither of your family nor even your species. Your blindness may make you feel the need to depend on such closeness, but – '

'Sarek, am I to understand this as a criticism on my choice of friends?' Spock asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. Somehow he found it easier to stand up to his father when he could not meet his eyes, despite the almost overwhelming family mental link he could still feel.

'If you depend on human friends, Spock, you will be let down.'

'Sarek, Kirk has been at my side from the moment I lost my sight. He has been just as close to me for many years prior to the accident. I do not believe I would still be in Starfleet if he and McCoy had not been there during my rehabilitation.'

'I had thought that your sight loss may make you reconsider the wisdom of your chosen career,' Sarek said darkly.

'I have never doubted the wisdom of my chosen career – any more than I have doubted the wisdom of my choice in friends. There are some things I still cannot do without help, and I am grateful that the Captain is ready to give me that help at any moment.'

'Then I am to understand that you allow these human 'friends' a greater intimacy than you allow your own family?'

Without even giving time to consider the question, Spock inclined his head. 'Yes, Sarek - I believe that they have earned that right.'

He stepped back to the piano to close the lid silently and stow the stool back in its place.

'If you will excuse me,' he said smoothly, moving deftly around his father and towards the door. He misjudged a little and found the shelves instead, but simply moved sideways with a hand on the shelves until the soft book spines ran out and his fingers brushed over the wooden door panels. He left Sarek in the library, and went to his room. He could hear the shufflings and murmurs of Kirk and McCoy inside as they sorted their belongings, and entered the room cautiously, unsure of what may be in front of him. Their beds were arranged unobtrusively against the far wall, but he could not control what they had done to the room since. As his toe touched something soft on the floor he pursed his lips tightly, stifling a sigh.

'Doctor, Captain,' he said by way of greeting. 'Could someone assist me through this – '

'This mess?' McCoy asked him warmly, looking up from his case at Spock's tense-looking expression. 'Sorry, Spock - didn't realise you'd be finished with your father so soon.'

Kirk came across the room, kicking soft piles of McCoy's clothing out of his path as he came, giving the doctor a silent glare. He touched Spock's elbow with a hand.

'Come over here and sit down while we clean up, Spock,' he said, leading the tentative Vulcan through the room to the swivel chair by his desk.

Spock sank down onto the chair and sat with his hands folded in his lap, something akin to worry etched into his face.

'Captain, I am not sure if this situation will be equitable,' he said finally. 'I rely on order, at least in my own room.'

'We'll be ordered, Spock - I promise,' McCoy reassured him, scooping clothes up from the floor and onto his bed.

Spock parted his lips, wondering how to articulate his need for this calm, quiet space to retreat to where the placement of objects could be relied upon - but his concern remained unspoken.

'Very well, Doctor,' he nodded finally. 'We will see. But, Captain, could you – keep an eye on the place for me?'

'Of course. It'll be fine, Spock,' he reassured him. 'I know we humans seem careless sometimes, but we know how important it is to you that things are in their places. How about we make sure we restrict our belongings to no more than two feet out from our beds?'

'That would be equitable,' Spock nodded.

'Good. What did Sarek have to say to you – if I'm not intruding?'

Spock considered, but there seemed little value in hiding Sarek's prejudice from the captain – it would be evident enough in their time here.

'My father is unsure of the benefit of friendship with humans,' he said diplomatically.

'Really?' McCoy asked sardonically. 'And what does your mother think about that, Spock?'

Spock didn't attempt to work out that problem in logic. There was much about his father's attitudes and views towards others that didn't match up to his own personal life.


	8. Chapter 8

8

It was two days before Spock had any further communication with T'Pring, when she contacted him to tell him that she had received another message asking her to meet, and the terrorists were awaiting her answer. He arranged to meet her immediately, and found himself sitting on a stone bench in a square near the edge of his home town, awaiting her arrival. Out of all the footsteps he heard around him at the appointed time he guessed that the most crisp and precise step was T'Pring's, moving towards him at exactly the correct pace to arrive precisely at the arranged time. She stood before him silently for a moment as if testing his perception, before reaching out to touch his arm lightly.

'Spock. Shall we walk?'

Spock nodded silently, standing and reaching out to touch her arm with his fingertips.

'You have received another message,' he prompted her as they began to walk towards the narrow streets of the old town.

'Yes, forty-three point two minutes ago. The speaker requested that I meet him in two days time, in the meditation gardens at the junction of Si-lar and Si-kantu. I imagine such a meeting would be conducted in a closed area – not a situation conducive to covert supervision.'

'Perhaps. I am afraid I must persuade you towards an action to which you will not be agreeable,' he said softly.

'We have already spoken of this. I am not easily persuaded, Spock,' T'Pring warned him.

'I do not expect you to be. However, it is very necessary that you help me, T'Pring. Your contact with the terrorists is the only link we have to them. I believe it is very necessary for you to attend - '

Spock's attention was taken suddenly by a noise of swift footsteps approaching. He got a mental impression of aggression and suppressed anger.

'T'Pring – ' he began, but there was a sudden rush, and a grunt of effort, and Spock found himself pinned against a wall with a hand gripping his throat, the fingers expertly positioned on his carotid artery to send him into unconsciousness or even death with a little pressure. He fought to drag breath back into his winded lungs, as a voice asked tersely;

'Why do you touch this woman's arm as if she were yours, Spock?'

He had never heard the man speak before, but he inferred from the question that the man who held him pressed to the wall was Stonn, T'Pring's wedded husband. T'Pring, he noted, did nothing either to explain Spock's actions or to defuse her husband's very Vulcan rage. Stonn's misconception was completely understandable – Spock had been bonded to this woman, and no Vulcan would touch another in the way Spock was doing without a bond of a familial or sexual level – unless, of course, there was another pressing logical reason.

'Because, Stonn, I am blind,' Spock intoned flatly. His voice came out as a rasp through the grip.

The fingers loosened a little, and Stonn asked with a tone of suspicion, 'You cannot see?'

'Barely at all,' Spock said. 'T'Pring was acting as my guide. You told me Stonn was off world, T'Pring,' he said, half accusingly.

'He was,' T'Pring said succinctly. 'He has returned.'

'You may indeed be blind, Spock,' Stonn cut in, his voice still laden with suspicion and discourtesy, 'but why do you walk with my wife? You no longer hold any logical or emotional connection with her.'

'I have business with Spock,' T'Pring told him. Her voice was as cool with her husband as it was with Spock. 'It does not require your presence.'

The tension in the air was palpable – but that was all coming from Stonn. All Spock could sense from T'Pring was a kind of quiet amusement. *_She takes pleasure from Stonn's jealousy*_, he realised. It had been that way from the start. At koon-ut-kal-if-fee she had taken the same muted pleasure from watching two men fight at her whim, and at Stonn's jealous need to fight himself. As logical as she was, T'Pring's weakness was vanity. Perhaps she had even allowed Stonn to follow her here, leaving clues or dropping hints of her meeting with Spock.

Stonn's fingers uncurled slowly from Spock's throat.

'There is no sense to this discussion,' Spock said abruptly. He refused to pander to T'Pring's manipulative needs. 'Stonn, I have no feelings for your wife. I must meet with her because of reasons that she will disclose to you if she so desires. When I walk with her, I take her guidance because it is vastly easier for me that way. T'Pring, if you wish I will leave you. You may contact me when you have settled matters with your husband.'

He unfolded his cane with a snap of his wrist, reaching out to the wall behind him to orientate himself.

'I will take you to the centre of town, Spock,' T'Pring offered. 'I assume you will insist on finding your own way from that point.'

Spock nodded curtly, reaching out to T'Pring's arm – but Stonn's hand snapped out to stop him, gripping his wrist and moving it forcefully away from his wife.

'It is illogical for you to leave if you have not completed your business,' he said in clipped tones. 'Conclude your discussion.'

'Our discussion is private,' Spock told him firmly. 'Release my arm, Stonn. You would not wish to provoke an altercation with me.'

'I have seen you fight before, *_vahn est*_,' Stonn spat. 'You barely triumphed over a human. Do not believe you could harm me now, in your reduced state.'

Spock pursed his lips, declining to respond to the insult. The words roughly translated meant *_dull eyes*_, an ancient derogatory term for one foolish or reckless – or blind. Whatever Stonn believed, though, Spock practised hand-to-hand combat every week with Jim, in order to keep himself both fit and trained. Often now he found himself beating his sighted captain easily, working from cues of breathing, mental emanations, even the noise of his opponent's feet on the floor. Besides that training he spent time exercising in the ship's gym, keeping his muscles and cardio-vascular system at peak efficiency despite his blindness. Stonn would be extremely surprised were he to attempt a physical fight.

'Stonn, leave us,' T'Pring said icily. 'I will speak to you tonight about my business with Spock.'

Spock used his free hand to forcefully uncurl Stonn's fingers from his wrist, proving silently and subtly that he was indeed strong enough and capable enough to enter an altercation quite successfully. There was a moment's silence, then Stonn breathed out noisily, turned, and stalked away swiftly.

'You wished me to attend this meeting with the terrorists,' T'Pring prompted Spock as soon as his footsteps faded. 'I am eager to hear your persuasive technique, Spock.'

'I must persuade you to more than that,' Spock told her. 'I believe that there is one way to increase your safety if you do agree to this action. We still share the remnants of our betrothal link. If we were to meld, we could gain a temporary awareness that would enable me to see and hear your situation without being present and without the aid of devices. It would possibly even enable me to follow you were the meeting to take place while walking.'

T'Pring regarded Spock's dark sightless eyes steadily, one eyebrow slightly raised as she contemplated the suggestion. It would be interesting to touch that mind again that she hadn't fully entered since the age of seven – still more interesting to enter the mind of such a fascinating subject – a man part human, driven to conform to Vulcan ideals, living in a sightless world that few Vulcans ever managed to adapt to. All the reasons that had told her not to pursue a relationship with Spock made him a fascinating subject for study.

'An intriguing idea,' she said slowly. 'But we would need to find some private place to achieve the meld. I doubt that Stonn would be conducive to its occurrence in his marital home.'

The movement of Spock's eyebrow showed his surprise in an otherwise expressionless face. He tapped his cane lightly on the floor, as if considering what to say next.

'I had not expected such rapid agreement,' he said finally.

'You are a fascinating study, Spock,' T'Pring said coolly and honestly. 'Your half-human mind. Your blindness. I cannot begin to understand how you tolerate such a restricted life.'

'Then in return for a perception of my mind, you would meet with these terrorists?' Spock said with a tone of amazement. He could not say he was entirely easy with the idea of allowing T'Pring into his mind merely to satiate her curiosity about his blindness. However, the possible gains of such a trade were worth it. He was silent for a moment, then nodded. 'I imagine we could achieve the meld in my parents' home. After all, we have done it once before there… We could choose a time when the academics are in conference. Although I must make you aware of one more thing – or two, to be exact.'

'Two?' T'Pring echoed.

'Kirk, and McCoy.'

He could feel T'Pring stiffening even without touching her. 'Fascinating,' she said eventually. 'It will be interesting to see your colleagues again. I imagine you have already told them about your involvement with me?'

Spock inclined his head once.

'You would be using my mind to see, Spock,' T'Pring pointed out, steering the conversation smoothly away from Spock's breach of her trust. 'You have not seen for over seven months. How would you manage an influx of visual images after so long?'

'With logic,' Spock said flatly. The question lingered in his mind as they walked back through the town, though. True, he remembered sights and he often experienced startlingly visual dreams – however, that wouldn't compare to real images entering his brain after so long without such stimulation. He couldn't help wondering as he walked what the streets of his home town looked like now, what T'Pring's appearance was, what Jim and McCoy would look like if her gaze happened to fall on them. Of course, he would not see T'Pring unless she happened to look at her own reflection.

'Then – I agree with your proposal,' T'Pring said smoothly. 'When do you wish to attempt the meld?'

'Not immediately – I have a prior engagement,' Spock told her. 'But I believe there is another debate scheduled at the Academy tomorrow evening. You could visit me in my home at that time? Say – eight o'clock?'

'That will be fine. We are at the town centre, Spock,' T'Pring told him, halting in her stride. 'Do you wish me to continue to guide you to your home?'

'I must go to the transporter station. If you could indicate the correct direction?'

'I must walk past it myself. Since it is so close to here, I may as well walk with you.'

Spock nodded. There was no logic in refusing her assistance, apart from his own desire to achieve things alone, without help. He had arranged to return to the ship to receive his eye treatment, and the sooner he reached the transporter station the sooner he could start attacking the cells that he knew were steadily regrowing over his vision.

******

Spock stood for a moment as the transporter beam released him, assessing the change in scents and atmosphere between the Vulcan transporter station and the small room on the _Enterprise_. He could sense the mental presence of the transporter operator he had spoken to moments before through the communications system – and of one other person in the room with a mind that was very familiar to him.

'I assure you, Nurse, I do not need a chaperone,' Spock said as he stepped down from the transporter.

There was a surprised pause as Nurse Chapel wondered how he had known she was there, then she fell into step alongside him as he left the room.

'Dr McCoy said – and I quote – 'be there to tow his ass into sickbay' – so I'm just following orders, Mr Spock,' she assured him.

'I am not likely to shirk this appointment. I am just as anxious to receive my treatment as Dr McCoy evidently is that I take it.'

She touched his arm to stay him as he began to turn left on the route to sickbay.

'The other reason, Mr Spock, is that we're taking the opportunity for some redecoration in the sickbay while we're planetside, so we've moved into the tech labs. Your treatment will be in Lab Three.'

'I see,' Spock nodded, turning confidently in the direction of Lab Three. Just down the corridor, turn left, three point five metres further on, and the door was on his right. The door opened before him and he strode inside, confident of the arrangement within. Abruptly he struck something at waist height, and recoiled, rubbing the sore point where his hip had impacted. He stepped backwards to meet Chapel's hand touching protectively to his back. He closed his eyes, extending his mental awareness to assure himself that they were alone in the room, with no one else to witness his mistake.

'You have transferred the furniture from the sickbay treatment room,' he said.

'Yes,' Chapel nodded. Her tact forced her to refrain from gushing apologies or referring back to the incident. 'Let me take you to a chair.'

Her hand touched lightly to his arm, steering him around the examination table he had so unceremoniously walked in to, and to a chair on the other side of the room. Spock sat wordlessly, trying to analyse the small echoes and movement of air in the room to ascertain a shadowy picture of his surroundings. With a careful drop in his mental shields he could track Chapel as she moved about the room, just sensing what kind of obstacles she was moving round or touching by her own impressions of them. She came back to sit close in front of him – so close that he could feel the warmth of her knees almost touching his.

'I'm holding an optical scope,' she explained, leaning towards him. 'If you'll hold still with your eyes wide open, I'm going to examine the progress of the cell deterioration in your eyes.'

'Of course,' Spock said, careful not to nod. He was impressed by the nurse's manner with him – she had hardly had cause to interact with him since the accident that took his sight, but her approach was that of someone totally _au fait_ with dealing with blindness.

Her hand touched his face to steady his head, inadvertently brushing over the meld-points on his temple and cheek. He almost gasped at the influx of emotions through that touch – he had not lifted his mental shields again since she sat down. He sensed a professional concern, apprehension at being so close to him – and then, deeper, the muted warmth of love reaching out to him and sending a warm tingle through the surface of his skin. Within that love was a sadness that felt like a stabbing into his core – she felt it when she thought of his blindness, he realised. He took in a shallow breath and raised his shields somewhat – not blocking out the impressions entirely, but merely lessening the force of them. Her warmth was strangely attractive after the cold restraint of T'Pring. He heard the warble of the medical sensor begin, then felt the nurse's breath warm against his cheek as she leant in to gaze through the scope. This closeness felt even more intimate than it would if he could see her face. She leant closer, so close that her hair brushed his skin. He held his breath as she finished her examination, then exhaled as she leant away from him.

He sat silent for a moment, considering, then pushed aside concerns about unbecoming behaviour, and asked, 'What colour and style is your hair at present, Christine?'

There was an electric impression of her surprise, both at his question and his use of her first name. He heard her hand go up to the back of her head, presumably touching her hair.

'Umm – blonde, Mr Spock. And up – my hair's pinned up on my head. Why?'

'I have known you to favour three colours for your hair – gold, copper, and silver. I wished to know how you appeared today – for a more complete image of my surroundings.'

'Of course,' she said. He could tell that she was smiling at his awkwardly concocted explanation.

'I used to prefer gold to the others,' he added softly, almost as an aside.

'Oh. Well … I'll remember that,' she said awkwardly. 'Can you move to the examination table?' she said, strict professionalism re-entering her voice. 'I'll fit the treatment device, and we can start.'

Spock nodded, getting to his feet and moving towards the bed he had walked into moments before. He heard Chapel swing the bed to an upright position, and her hand helped him find his way onto it before swinging it back flat.

'What did the scope show?' he asked with keen interest, as she moved across the room to gather the equipment.

A note of sympathy softened her voice. 'Compared to the standard rate of cell deterioration, there's been a sharp drop off in the last two weeks since you've not been receiving treatment, Mr Spock. There was a point two percent resurgence in the amount of cells in your eyes since your last treatment.'

'Then the cell cover is back to – ninety-seven point seven percent,' Spock calculated, blinking into the darkness.

'Doctor McCoy authorised a more vigorous treatment just the once,' she added more brightly. 'If you agree to it it should reverse that increase and take you back on track – it will leave you more tired than usual, though. You'd perhaps be best staying on the ship overnight.'

'I will risk the increase in power.'

'In that case – I'm lowering the device now, Mr Spock.'

He lay still as the familiar sensation of a goggle-like contraption lowered down over his face and clipped firmly in place over his eyes. A cold, stinging mist was released that caused him to blink sharply, before the anaesthetic in it took effect, numbing his eyes and relaxing his eyelids so that he could not move them against the soft rods that held them open.

'Activating the beam,' Chapel said crisply.

Spock tensed slightly as the odd tingling of disrupter beams entering his numbed eyes began. He could not say he found the treatment pleasant – no matter how finely focussed the beams were, they still diffused into his body, causing a general cell breakdown and a feeling of extreme weariness. As per McCoy's instructions, the beam was stronger this time – he could feel it setting up a cascade reaction through his body, with an odd enervating tingling. Nausea began to grow in the pit of his stomach. He was aware that his hands were clenched over the sides of the bed, and although he tried to relax them he couldn't let go.

'Nurse – ' he began, although he was not quite sure what to say.

'Do you want me to stop?'

'No,' he said through gritted teeth. 'I simply feel a little nauseous. I can control it.'

'Just ten more seconds … five … That's it, Mr Spock,' she said brightly, flicking off the beam. 'Done.'

'I am highly grateful,' Spock said tightly, still clutching to the sides of the bed as she disengaged the goggles from his head and swung the device away from him. Nausea pushed over him in waves, the room seeming to spin around him. He gasped in fresh air, trying to suppress the urge to vomit.

'Do you need a bowl?' Chapel asked anxiously.

'I should be fine in a moment,' Spock assured her. As if to prove his point he swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped to the floor – but the movement was premature, and he stumbled forward, almost falling, straight into the nurse's waiting arms. He stood clutching on to her torso as she supported him, aware of the gracelessness of the situation but unable to do anything about it. He was sure that if he even moved his head he would vomit.

'Deep breaths,' she told him softly. 'Try to get your balance.'

He rested his head with resignation onto her shoulder, doing as he was bade and trying to take in deep, refreshing lungsful of oxygen. Even as he stood there another part of him realised he had never been quite this close to Christine before – so close that he could smell the scent of her body beneath her deodorant, and the cleanly washed smell of her hair. He could even smell very faintly the chemical preparation she used to achieve the gold colour in naturally dark hair. She was trying to be rigidly professional, but he could feel the increase of her pulse and respiration as he leant against her. It felt strangely good to stand so close to someone who wanted nothing more than for him to touch her, in a world where most of his encounters were made up of voices and occasional scents. He spread out his palm against her back, feeling the multi-layers of fabric, skin, muscle and bone beneath his fingers. Her blood was pulsing strongly just beneath the surface. Regaining some of his equilibrium, he moved his other hand up to touch the soft strands of her hair, enjoying the silken feeling of them as they caught about his fingers.

'Yes, gold is best,' he said softly.

'Mr Spock, you should sit down,' Chapel faltered.

He relaxed his grip on her and stepped back slightly. 'I am quite fine now, thank you, Christine. The nausea has subsided somewhat. Perhaps if you have finished your examination you would allow me to go to my quarters.'

'Just a moment,' she said, and the warble of the scanner began again. 'You've suffered mild cell deterioration through your entire body, but it's not so bad you can't leave sickbay. I should come with you, though, to keep an eye on you.'

'I think that is wise,' Spock said, still feeling too disoriented to nod his head. 'I feel rather unsteady – I would be grateful of your guidance until the sensation dissipates.'

They covered the distance between the lab and Spock's quarters largely in silence, Chapel muttering the occasional direction and Spock thanking her for her help. When the door closed behind them in Spock's living area an awkward silence descended again, Spock unsure of what to occupy himself with and Chapel on edge after the unexpected closeness in the lab. She stood self-consciously, looking about his quarters, noticing how they had changed since the last time she had been in here. At her last visit Spock's rooms had been surprisingly rich with decoration and ornament. Now, the red drapes still softened his sleeping area, and certain ornamental weapons and sculptures still graced shelves and walls – but some pieces were missing, and what ornamentation he had was pushed back safely away from edges, no longer organised according to visual aesthetics. His rooms were clearly the domain of one who lived by touch, not sight.

Finally Spock stepped towards her, one hand held out in a gesture of conciliation. 'You may relax, nurse – I do not bite.'

She laughed softly, but a nervousness lay underneath her laugh.

'I have not seen your face for almost eight months, Christine,' he continued. 'Because I cannot see you on the other side of the rec room or passing in the corridor, and rarely meet you in the line of duty, I have barely exchanged a word with you in all that time. I have come to realise that I have missed that contact.'

She remained silent, as if she had no idea what to say, so he took one step closer and raised his hand very carefully to find her cheek. He moved his fingertips over the smoothness of her skin, tracing out the line of her lips and jaw, discovering that her eyes were closed and her forehead relaxed.

'Your hair is still gold. Are your eyes still blue?' he enquired.

'Yes, Mr Spock,' she said, the words almost dying in her throat.

He moved his hands down to the wide collar of her dress, tracing along the opening about her neck, letting his fingers brush over the hard metal of her badge and feeling the seam begin where the dress opened.

'And your uniform is unchanged?'

'Yes, Mr Spock.'

'Then I know what you look like, despite not having seen you for so long.'

'Yes, Mr Spock,' she whispered.

'Perhaps we should finish what we began in Lab Three,' he said softly.

'I - ' she began, unsure of what to say.

He removed his hand and stepped back, suddenly unsure of himself. It was so hard to read emotion without being able to see her face. 'What is wrong, Christine? I believed this to be something you desired?'

'Oh, it is, Mr Spock,' she said earnestly, stepping closer to him again. 'But what – I mean – I thought you couldn't let yourself feel – '

'When I lost my sight I lost many other things along with it, Miss Chapel,' he explained in a low voice. 'I lost my casual interaction with you, for a start. As I said, I have missed that. I see no sense in continuing to deny something that is in both our natures. It is – lonely – for me not being able to see.'

'I'm so sorry, Mr Spock,' she burst out suddenly, as if she was releasing something she had kept inside for months. 'I've wanted to say I was sorry for seven months, and I didn't know how… When the explosion happened the Pernicians wouldn't let us through to the sickbay. I got them to move eventually, but it was too late. We might have been able to save your sight if only we'd been quick enough – if I'd realised it was coolant gas and brought the right drug. If - '

'It's all right, Christine. I know you did all you could,' he assured her. 'And anyway – the Pernicians deliberately delayed my treatment. Did you know that?'

'Yes, Dr McCoy told me that,' she said soberly. 'But – I didn't know what to say to you after it happened. For months I didn't know what to say. I know how hard it must be for you…'

'It is easier than it was,' he assured her. 'I cannot say that I enjoy blindness, but I have adapted to it in my day to day living. There will always be frustrations for me, but I am - all right. And my lack of sight does allow me to appreciate other things – such as this - '

He stepped forward again, reaching out to touch the delicate skin about her neck. He could feel her shiver under the brush of his fingertips. He moved his touch down to find her hand, carefully exploring each finger in turn, feeling the smooth polish of her nails, the minutely grooved surface of her fingertips, the soft cups of her palms. He brushed over the flat uniform fabric over her stomach, moving his hands over the ridges of her hips and then up to the soft swellings of her breasts.

'Mr Spock,' she said suddenly, staying his hand. 'Why are you doing this? Why now?'

He stopped to consider, acutely aware of the pressure of her hand on his, the only physical contact between them now, the only way to sense what her face may be showing. A certain irony struck him in her hesitation now that he was doing what she had wanted him to do for so long.

'I do not know,' he said honestly, 'other than for reasons I have already explained to you. Because I have lost one thing that is important to me, and I am not anxious to lose another.'

'Why do you like me, Mr Spock?'

He hesitated, terribly aware of what saying the wrong thing may mean. 'Initially, I found you physically attractive. I know that you have a pleasing face and body. But more importantly I value you because you are intelligent, you are wise, you have – if you forgive the cliché – a good sense of humour. You do not squander yourself on frivolous attachments or pursuits. I find your company rewarding... I do not know, Christine – is it not enough that I _do_ like you? I cannot enumerate the reasons as if I am assessing a scientific problem.'

'Mr Spock, after you lost your sight - ' she began carefully.

He stepped away from her, his face suddenly stony and unreadable. 'You have no wish to be encumbered with a blind man. I should have realised. I apologise for my mistake.'

'No!' she said instantly, reclasping his hand. 'I never – Mr Spock, how could you think I'd be that shallow? All I was going to say is what you've said – since you lost your sight we've barely interacted. I think we should spend some time in each other's company before we – do anything.'

'Of course,' he nodded, the layer of formality lifting a little, but not disappearing entirely. The nurse had obviously been burned too many times to trust him entirely.

'You've changed, Mr Spock,' she continued. 'I don't mean you're a totally different person, but your life is so different now to how it was, and I barely know anything about it. Could I – get to know you – the you without sight – get to know how you live now?'

He raised an eyebrow in subtle amusement. 'Then to start I shall give you a tour of my quarters, Christine.' He held still for a moment, thinking, then moved to his desk, putting his palm down by the computer. 'Where I usually leave my cane,' he said, taking the item from his belt and placing it there. He reached just under the desk and retrieved a small device with six keys from the shelf there. 'My Braille keyboard, which interlinks to both my computer and my adapted writing padd. My Braille scanner and printer, which are just under the desk. They allow me to scan books and hand-written documents, and convert them to tactile format. I also have a stylus and writing frame, if the need arises to write without using the computer.'

He reached under the desk again and pulled out a sheet of thick paper, holding it out to the nurse. She took it from him and ran her fingertips over the rows of dots that had been handpressed into the paper. She was gaining a slight knowledge of the Braille alphabet from all of the signs about the ship, but this much type was still incomprehensible to her.

'You do this without a printer?'

'I place a frame with the appropriate holes cut in it to act as a ruler, and press through from the reverse with a stylus. I cannot approach the speed of ordinary handwriting or typing, but I can write much faster than I had previously imagined.'

'I see,' she said in fascination, handing the paper back. 'But why not just use the computer, Mr Spock?'

'For the same reason that I imagine you keep paper and pen in your quarters. Sometimes one does not want to go to all the effort of using the computer, or to be sitting at the desk when jotting down a note.' He put the paper back where he had got it from. 'I also have a small device which prints out adhesive Braille labels so that I can identify food or toiletry containers. If needs be I can also attach them to my clothes. Over here,' he said, moving to the closed cooking alcove in his room, 'I have adapted my replicator and cooking unit with speech output and Braille buttons. I also have talking scales and a talking timer. I keep Sacha's feeding and grooming equipment in the cupboard below, and you would see her bed in the corner, if she were not being looked after by Ensign Chekov.' He paused, thinking. 'I do not have many other adaptive devices, Christine. I imagine you will come across them if you spend time with me.'

'Yes, of course,' she murmured, thinking how odd it would be to spend enough time with Mr Spock in his rooms to discover those things.

'Do you believe you know me well enough now?' he asked, almost smiling.

'Maybe,' she nodded. 'I guess in any case it's good to have a few mysteries to discover.'

He returned to stand next to her, reaching out to touch his first and index finger to hers, wondering if she knew the significance of the gesture in Vulcan courtship rituals. For some reason it didn't surprise him when she began to circle the tips of her fingers around his, as if the movements were entirely natural to her. He closed his eyes, shivering at the intensity of feeling that surged through him, his responses only heightened by the darkness that surrounded him. The only things that seemed to exist in the room were the touch of those fingers, and the pulsing he could feel in her fingertips that signified the beating of her heart. The stroking moved on, until her fingers were searching up under his uniform sleeve, then stroking along the sinews in his neck, following his jawline, the curves of his ears, tracing the line of his eyebrows and brushing over the softness of his lips. One finger parted his lips slightly and reached in to touch the wetness of his tongue, and he almost gasped as he tasted the salty human tang of her skin.

Then her hand withdrew, and she stood passively as he mirrored her actions, exploring her face again, pushing his fingertips into the billows of her hair. He touched her meld points, tentatively allowing a feather light brush over her thoughts, finding her impulses and desires and adding them to his own. He stroked downwards along her neck, across her collarbone, down to the fastening at the front of her tunic where it was held by the metallic, arch shaped badge of the medical division of Starfleet. His fingers fumbled at a catch he had never examined by sight before, let alone attempted to open merely with touch. Her hand touched his, helping him to slip the clasp open and push down the zipper-like fastening that ran the length of the dress. He slipped the dress away from her unresisting arms, and began to explore what was beneath. He felt the oddly rough, perhaps lacy, fabric of a bra, again with a clasp incomprehensible to his experience – but she reached up behind herself and undid it for him, letting him slip it away from her body,

He moved his hands tentatively to her chest, to the warm, heavy curves of her breasts, running his fingers over the hard buds of her nipples that were stiffening under his touch. He traced his hands over her ribs, the soft expanses of her sides and her back and her stomach, brushing in amazement over the dimple of her navel and back up to the swellings of her breasts. He had touched a woman like this before, but it seemed an incredible, sensual, intense experience to be doing it only with touch and scent to guide him. A slight smile tugged at his mouth at he realised what would be there if he had sight – a woman half undressed and standing in boots and pantyhose before him. As if she had read his mind, the nurse bent to remove her boots, then took Spock's hands and placed them at her hips, exactly at the waistband of her pantyhose.

He touched the elastic fabric, imagining that it was probably dark and semi-opaque, moving it down over her hips and sliding it down her smooth legs to the floor. He picked up the empty sheathes of fabric and ran them through his fingers, wondering at the light softness of them – he could barely imagine such a small piece of fabric stretching to cover a person's body from toes to waist. Then he dropped them back to the floor and reached back towards the nurse, fumbling slightly as his hand knocked into her side. Her hand moved to cup over his, stopping it moving for a moment.

'I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mr Spock,' she said softly.

He could hear the smile in her voice, but shook his head, not understanding what she meant.

'I'm standing here in nothing but my panties, while you're in full uniform. It – doesn't quite seem fair.'

'No…' he murmured, reaching back to her waist. 'No, it does not.'

Despite her previous assertion, she did not protest as he moved his hands gently down to the waist of her panties and hooked his fingers under the fabric on each side, peeling them slowly down to the floor.

'Do not imagine you are any more naked to me now than you were a few minutes ago, Christine,' he said softly, in the full knowledge that that was as close to a lie as he would come with her. 'I cannot see you unless I touch you.'

He could not see her, but he could smell the warm scent of that place between her legs, the slight muskiness of sweat on her body that was mingled with deodorant, scents that increased and swirled around him every time she moved ever so slightly. He could almost feel her skin on his even though she was standing apart from him – he could sense the warmth of her pulsing blood, feel the movement of the air around her, hear the soft noises of skin brushing against skin. He could sense the affection and arousal and tangled, surging emotions in her mind almost as a tangible cloak around her. He breathed in deeply, inhaling all of her scents, then stepped forward, pressing his arms about her body and leaning his head against hers, almost drowning in the feelings assailing every nerve and sense that he had.

'Computer,' she said loudly, surprising him with her voice. 'Increase temperature to Vulcan norm.'

'Complying,' the computer responded, even as Spock began to protest.

'What would Dr McCoy say if you caught a chill?' she asked, smiling.

'I – find myself reluctant to consider Dr McCoy at this juncture,' Spock said honestly. He stood unable to resist as she reached up to peel his jacket from his arms, then his dark undershirt, then reached with her cool human hands to touch the wide firmness of his chest, moving her fingertips through the dark hair that was there, letting his nipples harden under her touch, then moving on to stroke across his slim belly, letting her fingers trace just under his waistband, so close, then moving away again to consider his sides, his shoulderblades, his neck, each rib in turn. She let her hand hold for a second over the point where his heart beat in his side, seeming satisfied just at the fact that *_she*_ could make it race like that, when so many other stimuli went unnoticed by him.

She moved her hand down to the opening of his trousers, then stopped, and asked, 'You *_are*_ sure?'

'I believe I am,' he nodded, touching a hand to her arm. 'I – have not felt with this intensity in some time.'

'And you don't want to rest – because of the treatment you've just had?'

'I do *_not*_ want to rest,' he assured her, moving his hands to hers and undoing the catch on his trousers before she could prevaricate again. He paused to pull his boots and socks off, then together their hands slipped his trousers down and he heard the nurse toss them aside. The thought flashed through his head for a moment that all of these clothes and boots dropped haphazardly onto the floor would pose an obstacle to him if he didn't clear them away, but then he forced the concern aside. For the moment at least he had a pair of very willing hands here to guide him, whatever the obstacles may be.

Those soft hands moved back to his waist and slowly, carefully, slipped his underpants away from his body, and he stood there unable to move, shivering with the sudden realisation that while he could see nothing, she could see everything that was before her. Then abruptly, in the only way he could to even out their situation, he pulled her close to him and pressed his naked skin against hers, so that they were touching with the whole lengths of their bodies. Tentatively he moved his head towards hers, reaching out first with his fingers to be sure of his orientation, then following with his lips, pulling her into a long and heartfelt kiss. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and discovered the alien tastes of her tongue, her teeth, her saliva. She moaned slightly, a response he could only take as pleasure, and he tightened his arms around her, moving slowly with her towards his bed, guiding her in her dizzy preoccupation as much as she was guiding him.

'You are so – different…' he murmured as he lowered her onto the bed. 'So new.'

'Fresh on today,' she replied, and he took that to be a joke, although he didn't totally understand.

Finally, after restraining himself for so long, he lay beside her on the bed and moved his hands down her stomach to where he felt soft curls of hair beginning, exploring the landscape he found with curious fingertips, wishing he could see what he felt. There was already a dampness there, spreading out to greet him and guide him, and she arched her back in pleasure as he moved his fingers over the oddly insubstantial hardness of her clitoris and searched down further to find the moist opening into her body. He slid a finger in gently, feeling the soft, pillowing muscles tighten around him, then moved back to that hardness where he could feel blood surging crazily, and pulsed his fingers over it until she gasped with pleasure. The scents that rose from her body were intoxicating, surrounding him completely.

He drew his fingers away slowly, and stroked back up her torso, feeling every inch of skin with sensitive fingers. His hand moved up to touch her cheek, to try to sense the emotions that must be showing plainly on her face. He clenched his hand abruptly, his lips tightening, and she put her hand over his, asking softly, 'What's wrong? What is it?'

'It is useless to regret that which cannot be changed,' Spock said evasively.

'You wish you could see?' she guessed, and he nodded mutely.

'I wish I could see *_you*_,' he amended. 'I wish I could meet your eyes with mine. It is – not right – to be denied the sight of you. I'm merely feeling you by glimpses.'

'Shh,' she said gently, sitting up beside him and reaching out to stroke his face gently. 'It doesn't matter – not right now.'

And he felt her hand stroke lightly down his chest. When it reached his navel he was shivering. As her fingers moved into the thick hair beneath it thrills of anticipation shot through his thighs. He lay back onto the bed and awaited her. Shivers ran through him as his scrotum tightened, and blood pulsed into his penis, engorging it for her. Then, just a little before he expected her touch, he felt it, warm and firm. He almost gasped with the sensation of it. It was not her hand, but her mouth – her lips closing down over him, her tongue stroking and sucking at the head of his penis, sending shivers of delight through his entire body. She was devouring him, as if she had not eaten in days, and wanted nothing more than to consume this delicate thing in front of her. Her hand was stroking tenderly up his thighs, touching his buttocks, teasing at his scrotum, and then clenching around his shaft, lending force to the hot, wet actions of her mouth as she plunged him deeper into her throat. Spock stared into the blackness, his entire consciousness focussed on that touch at the centre of his being, the knowledge of his arms and legs and torso melting away in that exquisitely focussed pleasure. There was nothing but a sea of darkness, and that beacon of sensation flaring into it.

And then, just as he thought he could hold on no longer, the mouth withdrew and she slipped down to lie beside him, silently taking his hand and encouraging him to turn over and take her as he wanted to. He lay over her, taking care not to crush her or carelessly harm her in what he felt was his blind clumsiness. She guided him into her, and he pushed home into a place he felt he had waited to be all his life. As he withdrew she almost whimpered, and he plunged deep again, setting up a rhythm, his hips swaying down to meet her as she rose up towards him. That time of rocking, of leaving her and ramming home again as if he could not bear to be parted, seemed to last forever – and then everything dissolved into an exquisite sensation that pushed all thought out of his head as he came inside her and she cried out in ecstasy. He came to rest on top of her, clinging almost desperately around her body with his arms, burying his face into the hot scents of her neck, wanting to stay inside her like that forever, his whole body touched and surrounded by her presence.

A noise finally brought him back to himself. It was her, moaning gently, and he brought his hand to her face to feel wetness seeping down it.

'Christine?' he asked anxiously. 'Did I - ?'

'I am *_not*_ crying from sadness or pain, Spock,' she told him emphatically. She put her hand over his, guiding it to her mouth. 'See. Have you ever felt a smile this contented before?'

'I do not believe I have ever felt a smile, until today,' Spock admitted, running his fingers over her lips and cheeks, reading her as he would a page of Braille. 'It is – fascinating.'

Her face was sheened with sweat, and he brushed his fingertips across her forehead and cheeks, sweeping hair away from her eyes and stroking along her eyebrows, wishing fervently that he could see what he was touching. He ran a finger along the blunt human curves of her ear, realising that he had never before paid much attention to the look of them, then sighed, resting his cheek against hers, silently kissing whatever part of her face lay beneath him. Her hand stroked at the back of his head and down his spine, and he shivered again at her touch, aware that he was quite capable of becoming aroused enough to take her for a second time. But she was lying still and seemed content and quiet, and he didn't think it wise to keep giving in to his desires – not this first time with her. He pulled away from her, aware that he must be crushing her beneath him, and was reminded by the scent of semen as he left her body of the carnality of their act.

'You must want to cleanse yourself, Christine,' he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 'I will fetch towels and – '

He stumbled as he stood, more unsteady than he had expected after the double impact of his eye treatment and his recent activity.

'Hey,' she said gently, getting up to join him and closing a hand over his. 'Let me get the towels, and we can wash together. As your nurse, I shouldn't let you exhaust yourself after such a strong dose of disrupter energy.'

'I believe we have already broken more than a few bounds of the nurse-patient relationship,' Spock countered.

'I guess that's true,' she smiled. She paused to regard his figure, his skin slightly flushed and damp, dark hair clinging to him in gentle curls, his olive-tinged penis nestling at rest, but still slightly engorged and sensitive from use. She couldn't imagine a way that he could look more desirable than he did now. She stroked a hand down his chest again, touched that heavy organ again, marvelling at the fact that she had access to this thing she had desired for so long. 'I think we should wash up before I get the urge to break any more bounds. Where do you keep your towels?'

They showered together and came back into Spock's rooms towelling water from their hair and bodies, and then Spock sat while she gathered up their clothes and passed his to him piece by piece. He dressed simply in his black trousers and black undershirt, and sat at his desk. He contacted his parents to tell them he would not return that night, while she bustled busily with his replicator, then returned to him with two plates of food, and two steaming mugs of coffee. Perhaps she had been affected by what had just happened, but she thought she had never seen him quite so attractive, sitting there in the clinging black clothing, his sleek, muscular arms bared to above the elbows, his hair slightly tousled by showering. She became aware that she was just standing there staring at him, plate in hand, and shook herself out of the reverie.

'Spinach linguine,' she said, putting his plate down in front of him, and handing him cutlery. 'And your coffee's just here, to the left.'

She sat watching him eat, hardly able to tear her eyes away from him in her curiosity as he used his knife to help feel for his food and carefully coil mouthfuls of pasta up onto his fork. She could not help but watch his fine, long-boned hands doing the work of his eyes, wanting to take them and kiss them, but knowing that Spock would see that spontaneity as both illogical and distracting. He paused, turning his black eyes towards her face.

'Are you eating, Christine?'

'Yes, of course,' she smiled, pulling her plate closer and digging in. 'I was just – distracted.'

'You were watching my actions. Why?'

She shook her head, flustered at his directness, at a loss as to how to explain the human oddities of attraction. 'I don't know. I guess just because it's all so new to me. I always used to watch you eat, you know, before…'

'Curious,' Spock said solemnly, one eyebrow tilting upward. 'Why?'

'Haven't you ever wanted someone so much you'd just drink them in with your eyes, because you couldn't have them any other way?'

Spock considered her question, and then shook his head. 'I have mental techniques which would help me control such desires. But I believe I understand your motivations.'

He reached out for his coffee, but misjudged, and knocked the mug with the side of his hand.

'You've not spilt much - I've got a cloth,' Christine told him as he reached out to feel if there was a spill. She picked up a napkin and moved his plate and mug to press it over the pool of coffee. 'You're tired,' she said as he leant back in his chair.

Spock nodded. It obviously wasn't a question, and there was no point in lying. 'However, that does not excuse my clumsiness.'

'Oh, I think it's a perfect excuse,' she smiled.

He reached out to the mug again, and she caught his wrist, seeing something odd on his arm.

'Hang on a moment,' she said.

'What is it?' Spock asked, tracing his fingers over his forearm, precisely where she had seen a mottled green bloom. 'It feels somewhat bruised.'

'There's blood under your skin,' she murmured, leaning in close to examine the patch. She picked up her medical scanner and ran it over his arm, then widened the examination to his whole body. 'I don't think it's too much to worry about – it's because of the intensified disrupter treatment.'

'Cell breakdown,' Spock murmured.

'Exactly. It's localised to the skin surface right now. You're not in danger of internal haemorrhage – although I'll give you a shot of coagulant to be sure. It's just it's - '

'What, Christine?' he prompted her, frustrated at the inability to see his injury, or to read her medical scanner's output.

'Well, it appears the cells have been damaged under pressure. Like – where I've touched you. It's quite obviously handprints.'

'I see,' Spock nodded. She had expected consternation, but she actually thought she could see slight amusement on his face. 'That should prove – interesting – to explain, don't you think?'

'Yes, I guess it will,' she smiled. 'The scanner shows more bruising under your clothes, but it won't extend beyond your sleeves, and I can treat your skin to make the bruises fade,.'

'That would be acceptable,' Spock nodded. 'It would be – easier – for all concerned if I do not have to explain to Dr McCoy about the bruising. I do not relish lying.'

'You should finish your dinner, then get back in bed,' Christine suggested, pushing his plate back towards him.

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'Is that a medical instruction, or a personal request?'

'Medical, I'm afraid. I really shouldn't have allowed you to do anything that raised your blood pressure right now. I think you should get some rest.'

'I feel perfectly rested sitting here. I thought I might play my lyre.'

'I wouldn't recommend it,' she said apologetically. 'Not with your skin cells as they are – it'd probably make your fingers bleed.'

'A valid concern.' Spock thought as he took another mouthful of food. 'Do you play chess, Christine?'

She smiled, thinking about how she had forced herself to learn the game, holding the fantasy that one day Spock would ask her to play. 'I don't think I'll make much of a match for you, but I'll give it a go.'

'The board should be on the shelf to my left. Are you confident that you can move my pieces for me if I verbalise my moves?'

'Oh, I think so.'

Spock was mildly surprised at Christine's proficiency in the game – she did not manage to beat him, but it came very close, and he knew better than to judge her skill from one match. She wouldn't let him play another, however, using the evidence of her medical scanner to back up her judgement call that he should rest in bed.

'I believe medical supervision a sensible precaution, though,' he said as he moved towards his sleeping area, showing a slight sparkle in his normally silent eyes. 'Would you – care to remain here overnight, Christine?'

She smiled at that, amazed at how every moment only pulled forth more love in her own soul, and seemingly more love returned from Spock's.

'I think that would be a *_very*_ good idea, Mr Spock,' she replied quickly. 'For medical supervision, of course.'

'Yes,' Spock murmured, pulling her closer and toying at the fastening of her dress. 'I believe such supervision would be easier without the encumbrance of clothing, don't you?'

'I think so,' she nodded.

After a few moments of fumbling with each other's clothes they lay pressed together in Spock's wide but single bed, skin against skin, doing nothing more than talking quietly as they touched one another, learning things about each other neither had ever known until now.


	9. Chapter 9

9

He woke with the knowledge that he had slept longer than he had meant to, and that he had fallen asleep the night before without even realising he had done so. He was alone in his bed – but he could sense that Christine was still there in his room, perhaps in the living area.

He sat up slowly, feeling an odd sore aching through his body as he moved. 'Christine?' he asked.

He sensed her momentary surprise, then she came through to his sleeping area, saying brightly, 'You're awake!'

'Finally,' he said dryly. 'I have slept too long, I think.'

'You've slept just as long as your body deemed necessary, *_I think*_,' she responded, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

'Have you been here all this time?'

'I had to pop back to sickbay for a few hours, once I knew your condition was stable.'

'You have not slept?'

'You forget the time difference – I had dinner with you at my lunch time. It's almost eleven in the evening, ship time.'

'Of course. Then – you must be wanting to return to your quarters to sleep?'

'I've got another hour or so in me yet. I guess you want to get back to Vulcan as soon as possible?'

'I was intending to,' Spock nodded. 'I have business to arrange there.'

'I'm sorry about the murders, Spock,' she said softly. 'I know you knew Caroline – to be honest, I used to be jealous of her for all the time she spent with you.'

'Not any more,' Spock said soberly.

'Not any more,' she nodded. 'But anyway, I *_am*_ sorry. Especially for how it happened – where it happened.'

'I know you are. I appreciate your sympathy.'

'And are *_you*_ safe there?' she asked with very real concern. 'If they're Vulcan isolationists – you *_do*_ represent contact with other worlds,' she pointed out with a tone of apology in her voice.

'I do not know if I am safe there,' Spock replied honestly. 'However, I must be there.'

'All right,' she said softly, acknowledging that there would be no point in arguing with him. 'I can't find a medical reason to keep you here, either – you might be a bit weak for a few days, but you're not in danger from the disrupter effects. I just need to treat the subcutaneous bleeding before you beam down.'

'Is it still noticeable?' Spock asked, running a hand down his forearm. He had almost forgotten that he was still naked under the covers. 'I feel a certain amount of soreness.'

'You will do for a couple of days – your whole body needs to recover, just as it would from a disrupter hit. The bleeding's fading a little, but it is still visible. I can do it now – you're in the perfect place for it.'

'Of course,' Spock nodded, lying back down on the bed.

'I'll just get the healing accelerator,' she said, darting into Spock's living area, and then back again. 'Ready?'

Spock nodded, folding his blanket aside to reveal his body, warmed and relaxed by sleep. He felt a sudden, surprising surge of emotion from the nurse as he did so – a mingling of desire and pleasure racing through her mind. He could almost feel her eyes on him. She reached out to draw a hand across the dark stubble on his cheek, and he raised an eyebrow. He had not realised that being unkempt could be an attractive feature.

'Christine, you are supposed to be tending to me in a professional capacity,' he said reprovingly – partially because he was aware that her excitement was causing a reaction in his own biology, sending his pulse racing and blood rushing to places he did not currently want blood to go. 'We cannot – '

'No, of course not,' she murmured. She turned on the healing accelerator and leaned in close to him, playing it over the worst patches of bruising and bleeding under his skin. 'Of course not,' she repeated. 'Not while I'm treating you.'

She brushed against him as she leant across to treat his right arm, strangely aware of surges of desire in Spock's own mind. And then suddenly he was grasping her wrist and taking the instrument from her, and saying, 'Technically, you are not treating me at this exact moment.'

'Oh, we can't!' she said desperately. His dark, insistent intensity was intoxicating. Every muscle in his body seemed to be shimmering with focussed determination.

'That is patently untrue,' he said, putting the device aside and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. 'As I said, you are not treating me at this moment – and I assure you I am quite capable – '

'Yes, I can see that,' she said wryly.

'And I do not believe you are in a position to offer a physical resistance,' he said, taking hold of both of her arms and firmly but gently lifting her and placing her on the bed, holding her arms up above her hand. He relaxed his grip for a moment to see if she would resist him, but she didn't move. He managed to clasp both her wrists in one hand, and found himself adjusting her clothing with the other, just enough to gain access to what he desired, gaining a strange buzz of excitement from his domination of her. He entered her without preamble, reassured by her soft gasp of pleasure as he did, thrusting into her until sensation melted into a fiery climax.

'I – like to prove a scientific point,' he said breathlessly, pulling away from her and feeling for the towel he knew he had left on the chair by his bed last night. He handed it to her, and said, 'You may continue treating me now.'

'I – don't know that I want to,' she said, sounding even more breathless than he did. 'I'd rather give you more scientific problems to solve…'

'Nevertheless,' Spock said seriously. 'You must sleep, and I must return to Vulcan.'

'Give me a moment,' she said, getting up off the bed. She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, then returned, smoothing down her uniform and going to retrieve the hand-held healing accelerator. 'I just need to do your right arm, and you'll be quite presentable. There,' she said finally. 'No bruises – there's just some very faint marks left, but they don't look as if they were made by anything specific.'

'No evidence of this encounter,' Spock said with a half smile.

'None at all. I'm guessing you don't want to shout about this around the whole ship?'

'It is not in a Vulcan's nature to advertise relationships in their early stages,' Spock said soberly. 'Besides, the reaction from McCoy alone would be almost unbearable.'

'That's fine with me. Just – make sure you come back from Vulcan safe and sound, and – don't change your mind about this,' she said.

Spock could hear the latent insecurity underneath her light-hearted tone. He reached out to touch her hand. 'Neither is it in a Vulcan's nature to change their minds on a whim,' he reassured her. 'Christine, I really must continue with my morning routine now. I need to shave and take a shower.'

'Okay,' she said, returning the pressure on his hand. 'Do you want me to fix you breakfast before you leave?'

Spock hesitated – every offer like this set up a battle in him between asserting his independence and responding to simple offers of kindness. In this situation, it seemed appropriate to answer in the affirmative, regardless of his blindness.

'I would like that,' he nodded. 'Thank you.'

He returned from the bathroom to find that she had retrieved and laid out a fresh suit of clothes on the bed. He dressed, and came into the living area just as she put something down on his desk with a gentle clatter.

She gave a soft gasp of surprise as he rounded the partition, and he raised an eyebrow quizzically. 'What is the matter?'

'You look – *_fine*_ in that suit,' she said with feeling.

'I do not know which suit it is,' he admitted. 'Most of my clothes are not labelled – I identify them by location in my drawers, and by careful tactile investigation if I must.'

'It's a dark chocolate colour. It was the only one like that. It – matches your eyes.'

'Ah, yes,' Spock nodded, tracing his fingers down the front of the jacket. 'The close-woven twill with rectangular fastenings. I admit I did not select that one myself – Lieutenant Uhura assisted me in a shopping trip on our last shore leave. She assured me that it suited my complexion.'

'Oh, I'll say it does.' She shook herself out of her preoccupation. 'Your breakfast's on the desk there. It's not very exciting – toast and marmalade, and earl grey tea – black.'

Spock raised an eyebrow curiously as he sat and located his plate. 'It may not be exciting, but it is one of my favoured breakfasts – a taste I inherited from my mother. I admit I was thinking about that very meal as I went into the bathroom. How did you know?'

'I – don't know,' she said, sounding puzzled. 'I was going to fix you something else, but it just seemed right.'

'I am perhaps not shielding as I should. After our linking last night, you probably picked up on my thoughts.'

'We – linked?' she asked slowly. 'I thought I felt you there, in my mind, but I wasn't sure, it was so gentle.'

Spock nodded. 'I did not wish to overwhelm a mind unused to melding. But you seem to have taken to my mind as easily as you have to my body. At least, you understood my desire for marmalade on toast.'

'Is that possible?' she asked in amazement. 'After one instance?'

'It is very possible,' he said, touching his fingers to his teacup. 'Do not forget, we had just engaged in intercourse again, and each time only strengthens the bond. Do not be mistaken – you are not reading my thoughts, and I am not reading yours – we are simply sharing an understanding of each other's motives and desires.'

'Well, it's certainly – fascinating,' she said, sitting down opposite him. 'I'd be interested in finding out more about it.'

'There is not a great deal of literature on Vulcan mating practices,' Spock said seriously. 'You may find that you simply have to learn from experience.'

He turned his attention to his meal, eating it in typical Vulcan silence.

'Thank you for this, Christine,' he said as he finished, pushing his empty plate aside. 'But I must return to the planet now. I have an appointment this afternoon – and you must be wanting to sleep.'

'I'll walk you to the transporter room, if you like,' she offered as he stood.

Spock hesitated. 'There is no practical reason for you to accompany me,' he said with a tone of consideration. 'However – I would like that.'

******

The first thing he encountered as he walked through his front door back on Vulcan was McCoy with his medical scanner held out to him, playing it up and down his body.

'Christine promised me she'd let me know how you got on,' he grumbled before even uttering a greeting. 'And she didn't call and I couldn't get hold of her for some reason.'

'I 'got on' perfectly well,' Spock told him coolly, manoeuvring past him further into the hallway.

'You're showing severe cell degradation all through your body.'

'Yes. It is healing,' Spock said, unwilling to encourage the doctor to perform more in depth checks. 'The more intense treatment brought me back up to where I should be in my treatment plan. I would not want to undergo it often, but it was quite successful.'

'Obviously,' McCoy said in a rather puzzled tone. 'You should be a little more green about the gills than this, Spock, but – to be frank, you look like a man who's just got some.'

'Got some *_what*_, Doctor?' Spock asked, tilting an eyebrow upwards.

'You know what I mean. If you were Jim, I'd be checking your contraceptive injections were up to date. You've got that – relaxed, contented look about you.'

'Doctor, if you believe that I would engage in sexual intercourse after such a debilitating round of treatment,' Spock began in a nettled tone.

'No, I know,' McCoy said apologetically. 'It can't've been pleasant, that much disrupter energy.'

'It was not,' Spock said succinctly. 'Now, if you will excuse me, Doctor, I must find the captain to discuss yesterday's meeting with him.'

'Is this a private discussion, or can an old country doctor join in?' McCoy asked, sounding slightly put out.

'You are welcome to join us, Doctor. You have so far.'

'Well, Jim's out back in your mother's garden. Let's go find him.'

******

'I – would prefer to perform the meld in private, Jim,' Spock said when he had outlined his plans with T'Pring. They were sitting in quiet isolation in the far corner of his mother's garden, with Spock keeping a part of his mind alert for the presence of anyone else about to enter the area, and McCoy frequently scanning the door from the house with his eyes.

'Is that wise?' Kirk asked, concerned. 'Bones?'

Spock heard the warble of McCoy's medical scanner again. 'How taxing is a meld like this, Spock? You're not at peak fitness right now.'

'It should not prove difficult. T'Pring and I share a link. The only taxing element is T'Pring herself,' he said darkly.

'How about if Jim and I sit in a room next door, and I set up my scanner next to you to alert me if you need help?'

'That should be suitable,' Spock nodded. 'I very much doubt there will be a problem, but – I cannot say that I trust T'Pring as perhaps I should.'

'And then what, Spock?' Kirk asked. 'After you've achieved this - sharing of perceptions?'

'Then T'Pring is free to go ahead and attend her meeting with the terrorists – and provided I can stay out of sight, I will – oversee the meeting, so to speak. If you are with me, I can send you in at the first sign of danger. T'Pring is fearful of abduction or physical injury. At least, that is her excuse for needing protection.'

'Well, she may be right, Spock,' Kirk pointed out. 'They don't seem the type for simple peaceful protest, and an acclaimed academy teacher would be a good prize for bargaining purposes. T'Pring *_is*_ quite popular at the academy, isn't she?'

'She does seem to be quite successful there. Her logic is much admired.'

'But she supports alien admission?' Kirk asked curiously.

'Privately, yes. She is highly reluctant to become involved in the conflict.' Spock unfolded his cane, preparing to get to his feet. 'Captain, McCoy is right that I am not at peak physical fitness. If you do not mind, I would like to retire to my room – in private – to rest and prepare myself for the meld.'

******

McCoy drew in breath through clenched teeth as T'Pring entered the house that evening.

'Just as tight-assed as ever,' he murmured to Kirk in an undertone as Spock let her pass him at the door. T'Pring fixed him with an icy look, and he realised that no matter how quietly he spoke, the noise was probably audible to the Vulcans.

Kirk regarded her through narrowed eyes. It was hard to forget how this woman had risked both his and Spock's lives for her own supposedly highly logical ends. She barely seemed to have changed in the few intervening years – her hair was still the same polished black, twisted in an elegant design on top of her head. Her clothes still had that strange mixture of elegant, stylish practicality. Her eyes were still dark with piercing, emotionless intelligence. She held herself like royalty as she swept past Spock and moved towards the study door as if she was perfectly cognisant of the layout of the house. Of course, she probably recalled it from her melding with Spock at the age of seven.

'The house is empty, as you expected?' she asked Spock smoothly.

'It is. We do not expect their return until after eleven. Shall we begin, T'Pring? There is no logic in prevaricating.'

'We will be alone?' T'Pring asked, turning her clear gaze on Kirk and McCoy.

'McCoy wishes to place his scanner near me during the meld, but they will wait in another room,' Spock assured her. 'Come,' he said, moving without further preamble into the study. He wasn't sure whether his underlying sense of tension was because of the meld he was about to undergo, or because of the various tensions that were rippling between Kirk and McCoy in the presence of T'Pring. He could not forget that day at his ancestral arena, or shake of the feeling of responsibility for what had happened to Kirk at that time.

He sat in one of the chairs he had prearranged, almost oblivious to McCoy fussily setting up the scanner and then the two humans leaving the room.

'Shall we begin, T'Pring?' he asked.

'Affirmative.'

He raised his hand, touching it very carefully to the meld points on her face. His mind could not help juxtaposing the memory of the last face he had touched in this way, and he crushed that thought away ruthlessly. Thinking of Christine now would be of no benefit at all.

The contact with T'Pring's mind was like being immersed in crystal clear, almost frozen water. Everything suddenly took on a perfect edge of clarity, unfettered by emotional responses. But that was the surface layer of her mind, not the deeper areas that he needed to reach in order to cement the meld strongly enough to rekindle it without touching. He pushed deeper, breaking through that ice-like veneer into more colourful and confused depths. He caught glimpses of her love for Stonn – a love that continued because of his stalwart predictability, but that was also often stretched to the edge of breaking for the same reason. T'Pring found no challenge in Stonn, and one of her most favoured states was the sharp alertness needed during a challenge.

Then he felt tendrils in her mind reaching out to his, probing as he had done, seeking beneath his controls and disciplines. He could feel her casting about to find those parts of him affected by his blindness, searching for his impressions and reactions to it. He steeled himself not to react or pull away, despite his reluctance to let her in this deeply. It was part of their bargain, and he had to honour it. He was dimly aware that he was clenching his free hand tightly as she accessed those parts of his mind that held the memory of the explosion on the _Enterprise_, and the turmoil that followed his waking on Earth.

_*Enough_,* he thought finally. The memory of the despair he had felt at that time was playing as if in a loop, and he had to cut her off. *_You have seen enough_.*

He felt her acknowledgement, but she seemed to dawdle as she retreated, brushing over all sorts of things in his mind, touching each one so swiftly he could not be certain of what it was until she had left it behind. He followed her retreat, moving back into her mind again, seeking out what she held in her visual cortex. Her freshest experiences were darkness, though – she had closed her eyes for the meld.

_*Open your eyes,*_ he thought. *_Let me experience your sight_.*

And then abruptly he was looking at something odd and angular, in clear, almost sickening colour. The image seemed crass and vulgar, and he had to do all he could not to retreat from it in horror. This was so different from the sight he remembered in his mind. He had expected a wonderful, refreshing revelation, and this was none of that.

_*Steady yourself_,* she said coolly. *_This is sight. It is not distorted. You have merely forgotten the vividness of image_.*

He stared through her eyes, trying hard to reconcile these odd, disjointed images with what he remembered sight to be. He could barely make sense of it. This must be his face, but it seemed to be a jumble of shapes loosely piled together, with very little sense to them.

_*Your mind has reordered itself. It has given over power from your visual cortex to other senses. Steady yourself. Reconcile what you see with what you know to be true.*_

_*I am trying_,* Spock replied, but the strain was evident in his mind. He didn't understand. He could see in his dreams – or at least, he *_thought_* he could see in his dreams. Perhaps what he saw was actually as distorted as this, and his mind made him believe that it made sense. He was suddenly grateful for the graduality of his recovery. He was not sure that he could cope with seeing perfectly all at once, if this was what it would be like. He began unconsciously to lift his hand to his face, to feel the shapes of what he should be seeing – but T'Pring's hand shut about his wrist, forcing his arm back down to his lap.

_*That will only confuse you further. You have obviously become incapable of interpreting the visual. Use my mind, not just my eyes. Let me interpret the image for you_.*

Spock readjusted his touch slightly, seeking out the image she was seeing at a deeper level, after it had been processed rather than as soon as it had entered her brain. And suddenly he was making sense of what he saw – that odd, dark oval was not a oval, but obviously the hair on the top of his head and over his forehead, with three-dimensional form. Those dark, curved lines were his eyelashes along the edges of his closed eyelids, and his eyebrows above them. His lips were pursed together hard in concentration. He opened his eyes, purely to experiment with his perception of movement – and he saw the eyelids in T'Pring's mind flicker open, revealing white eyes with dark brown irises, and dull black pupils at the centre. He closed his eyes again. If he thought about the paradox of looking upon his own blind eyes he was at risk of destabilising what he had achieved.

_*Look about the room_,* he said. *_I need to know that I can understand more than my own face_.*

The view moved, and he recognised the shapes of bookcases, ornaments, the grand piano in the centre of the room. They had a cast of unfamiliarity to them because he was looking through T'Pring's mind, but he could at least recognise them for what they were. As long as he accessed T'Pring's understanding as well as her vision, he would be able to observe her meeting, and understand the images well enough to interpret them correctly.

_*It is enough_,* he said.

He dropped his hand from her face, concentrating on keeping the contact alive while he was not touching her. He withdrew his mind from hers, and then reached out again to see what she saw. It was surprisingly easy just to access that one area of her mind – it took none of the energy that reaching deep into another's psyche did. He severed the link, and was plunged back into darkness.

He took a few moments to compose himself. 'T'Pring?' he asked finally, noticing her silence and feeling her scrutiny of him.

'Your mind is – not as I imagined it would be,' T'Pring said, a slight breathlessness roughening her usually ice-clear voice. 'You – seem to be possessed of great depths.'

'Did you expect the child of seven?' Spock asked acerbically. 'Or perhaps an intellect dulled by my hybrid make-up?'

'Yes,' T'Pring said honestly. 'But I see that you contain greater intelligence than many of my acquaintance.'

'I am gratified,' Spock said dryly.

'I find – perhaps – that I desire you.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. The news was not wholly surprising, since T'Pring had a love of the unobtainable, but it was quite unwelcome. 'I do not desire you,' he said plainly.

'No. I am aware of that. You desire a woman who smells of pomegranate shampoo, with soft skin and soft hair – a nurse on your ship. In fact, you have done more than simply desire her.'

Spock drew away from her abruptly, clenching his hands. He was grateful that the study was soundproof. 'You had no right to seek that in my mind, T'Pring.'

'As much right as you had to probe my feelings for Stonn,' she replied smoothly. 'It is not as if you hide her in the recesses of your mind. She was there at koon-ut-kal-if-fee, blazing in your consciousness. You were consumed with the desire for intercourse with her. Of course, you were consumed with the desire for intercourse with any female, were you not? Is that not how it strikes the male at pon farr?'

Spock pressed his lips together, declining to answer, afraid that if he did he would say something based on trembling anger, not on logic.

'She is still in your mind now, although her image is more fragmented. You have trouble recalling her exact appearance. You experience her as a series of scents and sounds and textures. They inflame you.'

Spock turned partially away, trying to turn his face from her gaze. It was deeply unpleasant to be reminded of T'Pring's knowledge of his unguarded mind during pon farr, and almost as unpleasant to know that she was aware of his recent carnal feelings.

'Are you embarrassed by this desire, Spock?' she continued coolly. 'There is no need. You are, after all, half human – it is natural for you to gravitate to your own kind.'

'She is no more my kind than you are genetically, T'Pring.'

'Then – perhaps she is more your kind emotionally,' T'Pring said with a slight edge to her voice.

'Yes,' Spock said slowly, acknowledging the suggestion not as an insult, but as a compliment. 'Perhaps she is. But this discussion has no logical purpose, T'Pring. We have achieved what we wished with the link. I believe I will be able to monitor your meeting tomorrow. There is no further reason for you to stay.'

'No further reason but common courtesy, Spock,' she said. He could tell that no matter how logical and emotionless she seemed, she was annoyed by his lack of desire for her.

'There is nothing more to discuss,' he said firmly, standing. He had to rigidly focus his awareness after the odd experience of sight, reaching out to grip the back of his chair while he oriented himself in the room. 'You should leave before the others return. I do not imagine my parents will wish to see you here.'

Spock could feel the restrained curiosity in both Kirk and McCoy when they entered the hall. They had obviously been waiting to hear the study door opening. Of course, McCoy would have known when the meld ended by the readings on his scanner.

'You achieved what you wanted to?' Kirk asked as they moved to the door.

'Yes,' Spock said succinctly. 'We will be in position to observe your meeting tomorrow, T'Pring. Goodbye.'

'You must pass on my regards to your lady when you contact her as you wish to,' T'Pring said smoothly as she stepped down onto the front path. 'She has certainly chosen – a challenge.'

Spock closed the door and turned back into the hall, pressing his lips together in annoyance. He could feel Kirk and McCoy in front of him, beset with curiosity.

'Your – lady?' McCoy asked slyly. 'You been doing more than we realised down here on Vulcan, Spock?'

'I have done nothing of note down here on Vulcan,' Spock said, truthfully enough. 'T'Pring has been – drawing assumptions from her contact with my mind.'

'*_Really_,* Spock?' McCoy pushed, his voice alive with curiosity.

'*_Yes_,* Doctor,' Spock replied in a voice that would crack granite. He could feel McCoy falling back a little in deference to his tone.

'The meld went okay?' he asked in a more sober tone.

'Yes.'

'Your readings were erratic at points.'

'The meld is a deeply involving process,' Spock said. 'In fact, I intend to go for a walk to clear my mind.'

'Want company?' Kirk asked softly.

'Yes, thank you, Captain,' Spock nodded. He could tell there was something unspoken passing between Kirk and McCoy – a tacit agreement that McCoy would leave them alone.

'Do you want my arm?'

'Please,' Spock nodded again, grateful for his friend's tacit understanding of his state of mind. He was too preoccupied and unsettled by the meld to be confident of walking unguided. The darkness seemed all the darker after his brief access to sight.

******

They walked out towards the outskirts of the town in the evening half-light. Spock was silent for the first few hundred yards, his forehead creased minutely with a frown. Kirk glanced across at him. He had folded his cane at his side, choosing to hold Kirk's arm instead, but he was walking with an odd awkwardness in his step instead of his usual ease, as if he was having to actively think about how to move in darkness.

'So,' Kirk said finally. 'What was it like, seeing through her eyes?'

'Not as I had expected,' Spock said truthfully. 'It was – disturbing.'

'You seem unsettled.'

Spock's frown deepened. 'I expected sight to be pleasing after all this time, but in fact it was confusing and quite unpleasant. I did not initially understand the images I saw.'

'What images were they, Spock?' he asked curiously.

Spock readjusted his grip on Kirk's arm, as if he was extra conscious of the contact. 'My own face,' he said dryly. 'I could not understand the sight of my own face until T'Pring helped me to do so.'

'Well, you haven't been able to see for a long time now,' Kirk reminded him. 'Perhaps it's not surprising. You have a very adaptive mind – that can work against you.'

Spock halted on the path, smelling the scent of hot dust kicked up by their feet, feeling the shimmering, hot evening air cloaking about his body, reflecting up from the hard ground. 'I believed I could visualise things perfectly in my mind, but that belief has been cast into doubt. I – '

'What is it, Spock?' Kirk asked gently, recognising that hesitant look.

He dropped his head a little, turning more towards the open desert, away from Kirk's scrutiny. He could not be sure of the expression his face was showing. 'I – am afraid that when I *_do*_ eventually see, I will not be able to process the images. It will be worse than blindness.'

'It couldn't be worse, surely,' Kirk began.

Spock sighed, shaking his head. 'I do not know. I understand my blindness now. I can sense my surroundings. All of this,' he said, moving his arm out in a sweeping arc. 'Assumed norms aside, I can tell we are near the desert, because I can hear desert animals and birds. I can hear the sound of sand, unhindered by obstacles, scudding across the ground. I can hear where it travels over the footpath or becomes caught by the stands of bushes and trees, and so I can locate those things. I can hear the noises of the town at my back, and nature everywhere else. I know it is late evening because of the way the heat is rising from the ground, not beating down from the sky. If you were not speaking, I would still be able to tell it was you beside me by the noises of your breathing and your scents and my awareness of your mind. I know you're wearing your uniform because I can feel it under my hand. All this gives me a knowledge of my surroundings. But today I saw – and I could not understand sight. It overwhelmed my other senses, but gave me nothing useful in return. I had no understanding of visual representations of depth or texture. All I could see, until T'Pring aided me, was blocks of colour – flat, formless, nonsensical.'

'Your mind was elastic enough to adapt to blindness, Spock,' Kirk reassured him. 'It'll be elastic enough to adapt to sight, believe me. Perhaps what you need to do tomorrow will give you another chance at getting used to it.'

'Perhaps,' Spock nodded pensively. 'But, truth be told, I am not looking forward to the experience.'


	10. Chapter 10

10

'There are two, male, in desert garb. Cloth wound about their faces,' Spock murmured. He was sitting with his back to the wall on a bench in the town's meditation garden, just fifty yards from T'Pring's arranged meeting place with the terrorists. A copper-leafed tree shaded them from the sun, rustling softly in the hot breeze. 'Beige clothing, white head-cloths. She can only see their eyes. She recognises the voice of one.'

'Name?' Kirk prompted him softly.

Spock shook his head minutely. 'I can't tell.'

'Are they armed?'

Spock closed his eyes, concentrating harder. He moved his hand, as if trying to describe the shape of something in his mind. 'Can't tell. I can't make sense… Can't resolve it.'

He pursed his lips in frustration. Only those things that T'Pring was focussing on made any sense to his mind – the rest dissolved into a fragmented kaleidoscope that danced about the periphery in sickening shapes and colours. How on earth was he ever going to readjust to sight?

'Don't worry,' Kirk reassured him, seeing that the frustration was threatening his contact with T'Pring's mind.

'_Are you alone?_' Spock murmured, evidently parroting what he heard now. 'Yes. _Have you told anyone of this meeting? _I am not in the habit of discussing terrorist activities with friends and family.'

'Evasion,' McCoy muttered. 'She's good enough at twisting the truth.'

'_We need a voice in the Academy._ Why choose me? _Because your logic is clear. It is famed. You must acknowledge our own logic and agree with our aims_. Is there logic in murder? _When it is performed for a logical end._ … she looks at the other one … You are human, yet you consort with those who wish to exclude you. Why? _Letting foreign students into the Science Academy threatens the standing of universities everywhere else. They'll make other qualifications worthless. We'll all be out of jobs, passed over for Academy graduates. They'll bring down Starfleet Academy, pass control of the Federation over to Vulcan-educated not human-educated._'

Spock blinked, concentrating hard, looking so much like he was staring fixedly at something that McCoy followed his gaze towards a bleak patch of scudding sand. He caught himself, and looked back to Spock again. The Vulcan was so intent on his task that he was almost frowning, his hand clutched rigidly about his folded cane.

'T'Pring is considering,' Spock said softly. 'She is unsure of what to say … She's looking more closely at them. The Vulcan has fair skin, dark eyes, dark eyebrows. The human's eyes – startlingly blue, blonde brows, well-tanned caucasian skin. She's focussing on something at the human's waist. Perhaps a weapon. Her thoughts move on too quickly…'

'Can you ask her?' Kirk prompted him.

'No,' Spock murmured, shaking his head. 'She must remain passive in the link, or the Vulcan will sense it. … I am not comfortable around humans,' he said, repeating T'Pring's words again. 'Often my students suffer due to non-Vulcan presence in the Academy. And yet some of my most talented students have been aliens. _Then where do you stand?_ I must stand for the interests of Vulcans. What do you want from me? _To help us, with information, with your position in the academy. You could suggest meetings with certain people, in order to get them where we want them_. For what purpose? _If we have a important Academy figure in our hands, we will have a position from which to bargain_. A hostage? _Precisely_. Who? _Undecided as yet_. How can I trust murderers? _It was others in our group who committed the murders. We did not sanction it_. I must consider this. We will meet again, another time.' Spock hesitated, then murmured, 'She's standing, looking at their faces. They stand too. The human has his hand over his hip, where his weapon may be. She's apprehensive…'

Kirk glanced at McCoy in concern. He was getting some idea of how frustrating it must be normally for Spock, only ever receiving second-hand descriptions of sights and events.

'Spock – ' he prompted in a low voice. 'Do we need to go in there?'

'I don't – The human is nervous. The Vulcan is looking at him… He has relaxed his hand. T'Pring is turning away.' Spock opened his eyes abruptly, shaking his head very slightly. 'She has broken the link, Captain. I – can no longer see,' he said in a rather haunted tone, then added quickly, 'No longer see the terrorists.'

'Are you all right, Spock?' Kirk asked him carefully, touching his arm lightly.

'Yes. Yes, of course, Captain,' he said pensively.

'Let's just sit here for a few minutes, Jim,' McCoy said softly. 'No need to go out into that heat until we have to.'

'What about T'Pring, Spock?' Kirk asked anxiously. 'Do we need to speak to her?'

Spock leant back against the warm stone of the bench he sat on, allowing the sensation of firmness and heat pull himself away from the oddness of such a brief access to sight. 'I have arranged to meet her later this afternoon to discuss her meeting. We would only endanger her by following her now.'

'What do you think about it, Spock?' Kirk asked him. 'Do you believe what they said? Do you think it's true that they're not the murderers?'

Spock shook his head. 'I do not have enough data, Captain. Any comment would be speculation.'

'You saw their faces, Spock – didn't you?' Kirk asked with frustration edging his voice.

Spock pursed his lips, his eyebrows drawing together in a subtle frown. 'Jim, I could barely understand the image of my own face yesterday. I don't believe I could correctly read emotions at present. Besides, their faces were covered with cloth. Only their eyes were visible, and I certainly cannot extrapolate emotion from just their eyes.'

'Could you tell what T'Pring thought?'

Spock raised an eyebrow, considering exactly what he had felt of T'Pring's mind. 'T'Pring took great care to allow me access only to those thoughts of which she *_wished*_ me to be aware.'

He reached a hand up to rub it lightly over his forehead, suppressing the beginnings of a headache.

'Let me see your arm, Spock,' McCoy said curiously, catching hold of his wrist as he lowered his hand back to his lap. 'You've got some bruising…'

Spock sighed. 'The disruptor treatment makes me bruise more easily – you know that, Doctor.'

'Yes, I know that, Spock,' McCoy nodded. They had discovered very soon after beginning the treatment that it caused the patient to tire easily, and to bruise and to bleed easily. At first it had alarmed him seeing how regularly Spock was appearing with bruising from minor knocks, but he had established that it was no danger, and he had grown used to it. 'But not usually this much. This is all up your arm.'

'Yes – I found myself suffering a certain degree of vertigo after the treatment, and Nurse Chapel was forced to grasp my arms to steady me,' Spock said truthfully. 'The bruising was more extreme because the treatment was more extreme. I thought she had treated it, however.'

He heard the warble of McCoy's medical scanner. 'Yes, it shows treatment – but the cells were still residually weak. The mind contact with T'Pring – it raises blood pressure, doesn't it?

'Yes, it does somewhat,' Spock nodded.

'Is he all right, Bones?' Kirk asked in concern.

'Oh, it's not dangerous,' McCoy said quickly. 'I think the meld just raised your blood pressure enough to re-rupture the damaged cells, Spock. Combine that with the heat bringing more blood to the surface of your skin – and that explains the bruising. Like I said, it's not dangerous – but I'd like you to come back to the house and try to cool down and relax for a while. I'll give you a shot that'll help to stabilise the cell degradation, and you should be fine.'

'Very well,' Spock nodded, getting to his feet. 'Jim, would you – '

He held his hand out for guidance, and Kirk quickly gave him his arm, murmuring, 'Of course.'

A word cut into his mind, edged with surprise and an unfamiliar panic. '_*Stonn_*!'

Spock stiffened, turning abruptly, then realised that the voice had been internal, not external.

'Spock? Are you all right?' McCoy asked in reaction to his seemingly unprovoked start.

'T'Pring,' he said. 'Something has happened to her. She called out to Stonn.'

'Where?' McCoy asked, turning as swiftly as Spock had. 'I didn't hear anything.'

'Not out there. In here,' Spock said, touching a long finger to his temple. He turned, trying to work out where the mental cry may have come from, but it was almost impossible to localise such ephemeral things.

'Spock,' Kirk said in a warning tone, recognising the expression on his friend's face. 'You're not going after her.'

'I persuaded her to contact the terrorists,' Spock said flatly. 'I am responsible.'

'Spock – ' Kirk began again.

'Yes, I know,' Spock said, impatience edging his voice. 'I am blind. I am incapable. Believe me, Captain, I am fully aware of that fact. But nevertheless, I – ' He turned at a slight noise, and raised an eyebrow slowly. 'I don't believe finding T'Pring will be a problem, Captain,' he said in a level tone. 'Someone is targeting us with a phaser.'

His words seemed to electrify both Kirk and McCoy – he could feel the crackling tension as they turned towards the noise he had heard, and then froze.

'I am impressed by your aural acuity, Commander Spock,' a male voice said – the same Vulcan voice that Spock had heard through T'Pring's mind a few minutes earlier. 'You heard me change the setting, I presume – from stun to kill. Now, if you could step into the shuttle.'

Spock raised an eyebrow, and said in a level tone, 'Vulcans do not kill.'

'Are you absolutely certain of that, Commander?' the Vulcan asked. It was obviously a rhetorical question, and Spock did not answer. There was a moment of hesitation, then the Vulcan said, 'You, humans, get in first. I will manage Commander Spock.'

Spock pressed his lips together, disliking the idea of being 'managed' by anyone who bore him hostile intent. But he didn't resist the hands when they grasped at his arm and pulled him forward. He clambered into what seemed like the back of a small skimmer, the Vulcan stranger's hand placed roughly over the top of his head to prevent him from striking it on the doorframe. He found himself pressed hard against McCoy's side, jammed in by the closing door on what was evidently a bench seat meant for two passengers, not three.

******

They had been in the skimmer for little more than fifteen minutes, during which time Spock guessed they were heading out into the empty desert – although that was not a difficult guess to make, since there was little _*but_* desert fifteen minutes at skimmer speed out of ShiKahr. *_Empty* _desert was, perhaps, a misnomer, since the land surrounding Spock's home town was crossed by mountains, and scattered with twisting rock formations, clusters of desert plants, the occasional watercourse, and a plethora of small villages, hamlets and isolated houses. There were no large towns and cities in the close vicinity, however.

Kirk had murmured to Spock that the windows had been turned to opaque and the privacy screen between driver and passengers raised not long after beginning their journey, so Kirk and McCoy had no advantage over him in seeing where they were going. Spock wasn't sure that the screen was totally soundproof, but it did at least give them a large measure of privacy from their captor if they spoke in low tones.

'We seem to be gaining altitude,' Spock murmured softly, breaking the silence that had fallen soon after taking off.

'Yeah, I got that feeling,' Kirk replied softly. 'There're mountains north-west of ShiKahr, aren't there?'

'Indeed,' Spock nodded. 'Quite considerably large ones. The snow there acts as a reservoir for almost the entire province's water needs.'

'Spock, I don't know how you can stand travelling without seeing out,' McCoy complained as the skimmer gave another twist, and tilted its nose a little higher into the sky. 'Not without a sick bag…'

'You would grow used to it if you had no choice, Doctor,' Spock replied smoothly. 'Jim, there are a few buildings in the mountains – farms, retreats, and the like. I would say it is probable that we are headed there. They are virtually inaccessible without powered transport, and largely isolated from contact with the cities. You may find yourself in the rare position of encountering Vulcan snow, Captain.'

'Damn, and I didn't bring my skis,' McCoy said sarcastically. 'Spock, we were ushered off on this little trip with a phaser. I don't think we're going to be going sightseeing.'

'It is a logical point to mention,' Spock countered. 'We none of us are dressed for alpine weather, and I imagine both you and the captain may find the thinner air at altitude in the mountains quite difficult, to say the least.'

'Hell, thinner than normal levels,' McCoy muttered. 'Well, I've still got my medikit – I make a point of carrying tri-ox around with me on Vulcan.'

'Then may I suggest that you use it while you can?' Spock asked. 'How long would a safe dosage last?'

'Oh – nine, ten hours, depending on your activity,' McCoy told him, leafing through his kit and slotting a capsule into a hypo. 'Jim – ready?'

'As long as you haven't slipped anything else in there,' Kirk nodded, remember that awful, lung-freezing feeling as McCoy's literally doctored shot had begun to work during Spock's koon-ut-kal-if-fee.

'Just the good stuff, Jim,' McCoy promised as the drug hissed into Kirk's arm. He deftly refilled the hypo and gave himself a shot. 'I'm guessing you'll be fine, Spock?'

'Yes, I should find the air manageable,' Spock nodded. 'The cold, however, if we were to attempt an escape…'

He could sense a silent communication passing between Kirk and McCoy, and knew what was worrying them – the idea of attempting to escape through treacherous and unfamiliar Vulcan mountains in thin air and snow, with a blind companion who could only stand a short exposure to sub-zero temperatures.

'Okay, we're getting ahead of ourselves,' Kirk murmured. 'We don't even know where we're going yet – or what's going to happen when we get there. Let's wait till then before we start worrying.'

'I think that time may have come,' Spock said quietly as the skimmer tilted forward, and then began to curve steadily to the left.

There was a slight bump, and then the engine vibration ceased. The three sat and waited. After a short interval the door opened a crack, letting in icy cold air, and the muzzle of a phaser appeared.

'You two humans, close your eyes,' the Vulcan who had abducted them said curtly.

After a brief hesitation, both Kirk and McCoy obeyed. It was senseless to resist in the face of a phaser set to kill.

'Tie these about your eyes,' he said, putting cloth into the two humans' hands. 'Commander Spock, I believe you are quite unable to see?'

'I have no useful sight,' Spock nodded. There seemed to be little to be gained by lying.

'That is advantageous.' The man waited until Kirk and McCoy had obeyed his orders, then reached in to adjust the blindfolds to his satisfaction. 'Now, if you would get out of the shuttle…'

Spock sat, waiting, as the pressure of the bodies to his left eased as Kirk and McCoy clambered out of the shuttle. He followed, carefully probing the ground with his cane before stepping out onto what seemed to be a concrete surface.

'You manage considerably better than your companions, Commander,' their Vulcan captor said crisply.

'I have had considerably longer to adapt,' Spock replied, turning his head to try to gain an impression of his surroundings. It was bitingly cold, especially with the light desert clothing that he wore. The ground around him seemed clear, but he could smell snow, and the air was crisp and thin. It was obvious that their suspicions had been correct – they were high in the mountains, above the snowline, and perhaps in a place too inaccessible to escape from on foot.

'Okay, can we stop these spy-novel tactics?' Kirk cut in impatiently, obviously unsettled. 'Just tell us who you are and what you want from us, and let us take these damn scarves off our eyes!'

'First you will come inside out of this unpleasant cold,' the Vulcan said, answering anger with complete calm. 'It is quite illogical to risk you identifying our location when the problem is so easily avoided. You humans, come with me. Commander, I assume you are proficient to follow? The ground is quite flat.'

Spock inclined his head in assent. He presumed that the Vulcan was somehow guiding his companions, and he followed the footsteps – the quite normal sounding ones of the Vulcan, and the shuffling, uncertain ones of Kirk and McCoy. He lowered his cane to the ground, tapping it more loudly than he needed on the hard surface, listening intently to the echoes to try to gain some impression of his surroundings. Then they were moving in through a doorway into a building that was heated to a temperature much closer to the Vulcan norm, and Spock felt the imperative to shiver gradually melting away from his body. They were taken down what seemed like a narrow corridor and through a number of doors, until they were given the order to halt.

'There. Now you may remove the blindfolds,' their captor said.

Kirk ripped the blindfold off with undisguised disgust. No matter how much he admired Spock's ability to function without sight, he had absolutely no desire to share his experience. He found himself in what he could only describe as a Vulcan-style mountain lodge – a place furnished and decorated perfectly in accord with Vulcan ideals of taste and beauty, but with thick rugs on the floor, a fireplace in one wall, and thick curtains at the windows, all designed to promote the heat that Vulcans craved in such an un-Vulcan landscape. The second thing he noticed was T'Pring, sitting calmly on a chair at the side of the room, her hair unusually disordered and a bruise marring the perfect complexion of her face. She met his eyes briefly, but said nothing. It was almost impossible to read the gaze of a face so impassive.

'Well, Spock, we've found T'Pring,' he muttered, turning towards his first officer.

'Sit down over there,' their Vulcan captor said, nodding towards a low settee. 'Please don't attempt to converse yet.'

Kirk exhaled in annoyance, touching Spock's arm and guiding him to the seat indicated. Their captor was still masked by the light cloth wound about his face – a logical defence against sandstorms, but perhaps also, Kirk reasoned, a useful piece of clothing for a Vulcan in a place so bitterly cold. Obviously it was useful too for disguising identity. All he could see of the Vulcan's face was a pair of dark, emotionless eyes and dark slanted eyebrows.

As they sat another man entered the room, disguised as the Vulcan was, but with the loose movements and bearing of a human rather than showing stiff Vulcan control in every joint.

'We wanted a hostage. I think four will suffice,' the Vulcan said smoothly, turning to the human. 'An esteemed lecturer, a famed starship captain and his doctor, and the part-human son of the Vulcan ambassador. This is more than we had hoped for.'

'Yes, and we'll *_get*_ more than we hoped for,' the human muttered in a disgruntled tone. 'The force of a starship and Starfleet, a pissed off Vulcan and his wife… Samek, what were you thinking?'

'These four were conspiring to expose us,' Samek returned smoothly. 'Removing them from circulation was the only logical alternative.'

'And what about that?' the human asked, kicking his foot at Spock's extended cane. 'It's not *_logical*_, is it, to leave him with that?'

'No,' the Vulcan said smoothly. 'However, it is courteous. He is blind. He poses very little threat to us. Let us leave them and discuss this. Your lax control has already revealed my name to them. I would rather not reveal anything else.'

The instant they had left the room T'Pring seemed to come to life. She stood and walked across the room, ignoring the two humans and going straight to Spock.

'Your plan was flawed, Spock,' she said smoothly. Her tone was matter-of-fact, with no blame in it.

Spock inclined his head. 'Agreed. T'Pring, did you see anything of our surroundings when you were brought here?'

'Negative,' she responded. 'I was blindfolded like your companions when I was brought into the house.' She paused, turning an icy stare on McCoy as he held his scanner towards the bruise on her face. 'Doctor, I did not request your attention.'

'Well, you're getting it,' McCoy muttered. 'What happened? He punch you?'

T'Pring cast her gaze downward for a moment. 'He hit me. I did not see with what.' She put her hand over McCoy's scanner and relentlessly forced his hand downwards. He pulled away, startled momentarily at the woman's strength. 'I did not lose consciousness, and I am not badly hurt. I was only distracted long enough for him to force me into his skimmer. I am perfectly capable of controlling the pain.'

'Well, there's no fracture anyway,' McCoy told him, putting his scanner back in his medikit. 'I'd offer you a painkiller, but I guess there's no point.'

'None at all,' T'Pring told him honestly.

'T'Pring, do you think Stonn heard your cry?' Spock asked, standing up to face the woman before him.

'_*You*_ obviously heard it,' T'Pring said, with a slight tone of surprise. 'I would deduce that Stonn must have heard it. Whether or not it will help is another issue.'

Spock nodded. He probed in front of him with the cane, feeling a thick carpet on the floor that impeded its movement and prevented it from giving him any useful echoes.

'It's a medium-sized room, Spock,' Kirk said quickly, correctly interpreting his curiosity. 'About five metres by six. A sofa, two easy chairs, rugs on the floor, a fireplace – unlit. Two windows with curtains,' he said, going over to the nearest window and twitching the curtain aside. 'And shutters on the outside,' he said in a tone of disappointment. 'And a locked door, obviously.'

'Obviously,' Spock echoed dryly.

'I don't suppose you could tell anything about where we are, from that brief time outside?' Kirk asked him.

'We are evidently in the VanAhr area of the Lanvach mountains,' Spock said without hesitation. 'I imagine from your description that we are in a traditional mountain farmhouse, and we are above ten thousand feet, since that is where the snowline usually lies in that area at this season, probably on a plateau of some description.'

'I would agree with your assumptions of altitude and the house we are in,' T'Pring nodded, 'but I fail to see how you can be so certain of our area. You are presenting speculation as fact.'

'I am presenting fact as fact,' Spock said coolly. 'We are in the mountains – that much is certain. The Lanvach mountains are an average of twenty minutes away from ShiKahr by skimmer. We definitely above the snowline, since I smelt snow and felt the occasional flake on my skin as we entered the building. I believe that we are on a plateau, as the area sounded relatively open, and most farms are based on plateaux. And I know that we are in the VanAhr area because I heard an ahrkit calling not far away, and the VanAhr is the only habitat in this part of the planet where the ahrkit still flourishes.'

'Ahrkit?' McCoy echoed curiously. 'What's that, Spock? Some kind of bird?'

'Some kind of woolly mammal, Doctor,' Spock told him flatly. 'A vicious predator that is not encouraged in civilised areas – hence its rarity. If it caught you it would be debatable which would kill you faster – the beast's teeth and claws, or the poison upon them.'

'You do have a lovely line in creatures here, Spock,' McCoy grumbled. 'Is anything on Vulcan that's just cute and petable?'

'Doctor, that is highly irrelevant at the present time,' Spock said sharply. 'What *_is_* relevant is that we are being held captive in a remote and inaccessible location, and even if we did manage to free ourselves from this building it is highly unlikely that we could escape on foot.'

'It would certainly be impossible for *_you_* to escape on foot, Spock,' T'Pring said in a matter-off-fact tone. He was certain that she was fixing him with that unwavering gaze she had. 'The terrain is unquestionably rough and covered with snow and ice. You would not be able to traverse such ground with the degree of speed required. You would delay our progress by an unacceptable amount.'

'Now look here, miss – ' McCoy began.

Spock merely closed his eyes, dismissing T'Pring's statement and the emotions it threatened to provoke. Now was not the time to begin an argument with her about what he was and was not capable of achieving.

'Doctor, that too is irrelevant,' he cut across McCoy quietly. 'Even if we were to all escape, we would be prey to the ahrkit, and further down to the le matya and the selan. Neither could T'Pring nor I survive the cold without extra clothing, and you and the captain would be severely hampered by it. I imagine that Samek and his companion are contacting, or about to contact, the Academy, Starfleet or my parents – or all of those – about this hostage situation. At that point the authorities will become fully aware of our difficulty, and something will be done about it.'

'Well, I don't intend to wait that long,' Kirk said tersely, pacing in annoyance from the shuttered window to the fireplace and briefly bending to look up the narrow chimney. He dismissed that as an avenue of escape instantly – the stovepipe was fixed seamlessly into a solid partition just a few centimetres up the chimney. 'I'm not going to sit here and wait for Vulcan red tape to unravel. There're only two of them – '

'Are there?' Spock pointed out sagely. 'Are you certain of that, Captain?'

'All right, no, I don't know that,' Kirk conceded, sounding slightly annoyed at the Vulcan's faultless logic.

'In fact,' Spock continued, 'since the authorities determined that it was likely a female who entered my room, and it is probable that two humans carried out the murders, it is possible that there are at least four or five people here.'

Spock sat for a moment in silence, then touched his hand to his hip pocket, one eyebrow raising in what appeared to be abrupt annoyance.

'What, Spock?' Kirk asked curiously.

'This,' Spock said, drawing the cell-com his mother had given him out of his pocket. 'Samek neglected to search me.'

'He took our communicators straight off,' Kirk told him.

'Perhaps there are some advantages to generally being thought incapable,' Spock said darkly, turning the cell-com around in his hands. He opened the device and carefully depressed one of the buttons, then put the com to his ear. He waited a moment, then pressed his lips together in consternation.

'Captain, could you take a look?' he asked, holding it out to him. 'It does not seem to be working.'

Kirk took the device and scanned his eyes over the screen. 'No signal,' he said in a disappointed tone. 'It was a good shot, Spock, but I think it's just too remote out here.'

He handed the com back, and Spock replaced it in his pocket silently.

'It seems we can do little more than wait,' he said. He moved forward, beginning a careful search of the room they were in, grateful that the others did not interrupt or question his actions. It would have been simple enough to ask for a more detailed description, but no description would substitute for actually putting his hands on what was around him. After a few minutes he found the door, and pressed his ear to it, thinking he could hear something beyond.

'What is it?' Kirk asked after a few moments.

Spock held up a hand for silence, then beckoned one finger, saying tersely, 'T'Pring.'

The woman joined him swiftly, placing her own ear to the door. 'Humans,' she said after a moment of listening.

'Yes,' Spock nodded. 'Arguing. Can you make out what they're saying?'

T'Pring listened intently, then said, 'Not easily. I think they are in disagreement over what to do with us.'

'They've stopped,' Spock muttered after another few minutes. 'Did you garner anything useful, T'Pring? I am presuming your hearing is more acute than mine, since you are female.'

'I imagine it is,' T'Pring nodded, touching his arm as his made his way back to the settee. 'But I gathered little more than that they were arguing about the practicalities of keeping us here. There, Spock – sit,' she said as they reached the settee.

Spock sat, keeping his cane extended with his hands clenched over the top. He rubbed his lip pensively on his knuckles. 'Obviously there are more here than one human and one Vulcan,' he said. 'At least two humans. Was that calmer voice Samek, T'Pring?'

'I believe so,' T'Pring nodded. 'It is regrettable,' she continued. 'Samek is one of my brightest students. I thought I recognised his voice when he spoke in the meditation gardens. My suspicion was confirmed when the human named him.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'Can you give an assessment of his psychology?' he asked curiously.

T'Pring hesitated. 'In every class he showed a deep intelligence, but he was always quiet and controlled. I have had no indication of such instability – although he spared little time for non-Vulcan students. I found that he was – '

She broke off as the door opened again, turning her unremitting gaze on the three men who came through it. Spock stood as they entered, and Kirk followed suit, sensing something more ominous in their intentions than before.

'Samek, and his human friend,' Kirk murmured, close to Spock's ear. 'And another human, I think. They look – tense.'

Spock nodded. He could feel the brittle tension, at least from the humans. Samek was shielding his emotions as a Vulcan should, and he found himself locating him more by the cold wall of his shields than by anything he was projecting.

'We have informed the Academy of our demands,' Samek said without preamble. 'We have given them a certain period of time for them to consider their reply. If they do not comply, we – will eliminate two of you. A human and a Vulcan, I think, so as to leave a human and a Vulcan behind to tug at the emotional weaknesses of those to whom we state our demands.'

'Vulcans do *_not*_ take life,' T'Pring said in a clear, sharp voice. 'Have you forgotten that, Samek?'

The Vulcan dropped his gaze momentarily, then said, 'Life has already been taken. I cannot reverse that, therefore there seems to be some logic in continuing on that path.'

Spock took a step forward, noticing the smallest waver of doubt in Samek's voice as he spoke. 'Samek, you do not *_have*_ to continue on that path. There is a greater virtue in acknowledging that you have lost your way, and turning back, than in blundering onwards into further insanity.'

Samek's eyes glittered momentarily. 'Am I as insane as a half-human who has chosen to turn his back on his better heritage and spend his life as a servant of the Federation's military force?' he asked with a dangerous edge to his voice. 'Am I insane as one who would suffer blindness through Starfleet's violence and still continue to serve?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'How I acquired my injury is quite irrelevant at this time. Samek, you must realise that this is not a logical course of action? The Vulcan council will not bow to terrorists. You must realise that your only option is to release us, uninjured, and submit yourself to the authorities?'

'How do we get him to *_shut up*_?' one of the humans snapped impatiently, perhaps sensing that Samek was wavering.

'We could always put him outside for a bit,' the other human said in a growl. 'See how long it takes before we get Vulcan popsicle.'

'That witticism is unworthy of you,' Samek said sharply. 'Although – it is a consideration,' he said in a darker tone.

'Come on,' the first human said abruptly, turning back towards the door. 'They've got an hour. Let them stew for a bit. And when we come back,' he added, turning round again for a moment, 'two of you better start saying your prayers that your people care more about your lives than we do.'


	11. Chapter 11

11

It was, by Spock's reckoning, only fifty-two minutes later when their captors returned – the missing minutes presumably accounted for by the interval between them delivering their ultimatum to the Vulcan authorities and coming to tell their hostages about it. The tension for the last fifty-two minutes had been almost unbearable, with McCoy fidgeting nervously and Kirk endlessly searching for a way out of the room. Only he and T'Pring seemed to accept their inability to alter their situation with calm stoicism. They had both sat largely in silence, Spock, at least, taking the opportunity to meditate on their position and what might be done if the authorities did _*not*_ care about their lives.

'Surely it hasn't been – ' McCoy began jumpily as they heard the footsteps in the corridor.

Spock shook his head. 'It has not been quite an hour, Doctor,' he said soberly. 'But I imagine the eight remaining minutes would make very little difference to the sum of our lives.'

'Speak for yourself,' McCoy muttered. 'I was planning on doing a good deal of thinking – and _*breathing*_ in the next eight minutes.'

'Bones,' Kirk said in a calming tone. 'They're amateurs, there're schisms between them wider than the Grand Canyon, Samek is uncommitted to the idea of taking life, and he's obviously the leader. No one's going to kill anyone.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. To him, it was not obvious at all that Samek was the leader of the small group. What humans might take for a tone of command and conviction was simply the Vulcan way of speaking. To Spock, Samek appeared nervous and uncertain, and the humans seemed to be the driving and aggressive force in the alliance. But perhaps it was easier for him to imagine the more violent and volatile humans leading a rational Vulcan astray, and easier for Kirk to see an emotionless and highly intelligent Vulcan persuading the more dull-minded humans.

The door opened, and Spock got to his feet. Whatever Samek's position in the group, it seemed that his solution to his reluctance to kill was to be absent, because he could sense no Vulcan minds amongst the people who entered the room.

'Right,' one of the humans said without preamble. 'You, and … you, get up, and come with me.'

'He means you and me, Spock,' McCoy said in an odd, low tone. 'He has a weapon pointed at us.'

'Now, hang on,' Kirk said swiftly. 'At least tell us what's going on.'

'The Vulcan authorities won't bargain,' the other human said succinctly. 'So, we have to carry out our threat. One human, one Vulcan. If we take the son of the Vulcan ambassador, they'll know we're serious. That leaves us the starship captain and the esteemed lecturer.'

'Wait a minute,' Kirk began, a note of alarm entering his voice. 'There's got to be another way to achieve your aims. This is an argument about the admission policy of the Science Academy. Surely that's not worth murder?'

'Oh, this goes far deeper than the science academy,' the man retorted roughly. 'No matter what dear old Samek thinks, this is about Vulcans trying to control the education of the Federation – it's about them trying to warp the minds of the youth to get into control in years to come. This thing goes back to the founding of the Federation. The Vulcans have been trying to get into power ever since it began, and now they've found another way to do it.'

Kirk stared at him in shock, for a moment unable to work out what to say in response to this. He had read his history texts – he knew all about the problems of human-Vulcan relations almost since first contact – but he had not realised that there were still such pockets of mistrust and hatred in his fellow human society.

He had hesitated too long, because the first man knocked the other roughly on the arm, saying impatiently, 'Come on – let's do this.'

'You take them,' the other said, keeping his attention on Kirk. 'I'll watch these two – I don't trust them.'

There was another long moment of silence, then the first human approached Spock, taking his arm and shoving him forward roughly.

'Come on – outside,' he said briskly. 'I'm not getting mess on these carpets. I'd rather do it somewhere I can hose down. You too, Doctor. Come on – you help him.'

McCoy grabbed hold of Spock's arm, and nudged him forward. Spock didn't make any protest at the method of guiding in deference to the real fear he could feel through the doctor's grip.

'Calm, doctor,' he said in an undertone. 'Panic will not serve us.'

He felt a surge of annoyance from the doctor, which hadn't been entirely his intention, but it at least seemed to push aside some of the human's overwhelming fear. There was another shout of protest from Kirk, but he was ignored, and Spock and McCoy were hustled out of the door. He could hear the other human, staying behind, seemingly taking pleasure in giving taunting responses to Kirk's desperate protestations. Presumably the one man ushering them through the building was confident that his weapon gave him protection enough to not need company. Perhaps the other human, like Samek, was too squeamish to be present at such a violent execution.

They were taken through the same corridors they had traversed to enter the building. Finally a door opened before them and Spock felt the icy cold of the alpine climate hit him. He steeled himself, and walked forward into the freezing air, tapping his cane almost by rote on the ground before him. After just a few seconds the cold burnt at the tips of his ears and seared into his lungs with each breath. It was beyond shivering against – it was almost paralysing. It seemed to freeze his mind itself. He desperately tried to think of a way to avoid what was about to happen – but he could think of no avenue of escape.

'Must've snowed,' McCoy muttered, was obviously far less bothered by the cold than Spock.

Spock nodded at the banal comment. His feet had already encountered the three inches or so of snow, the cold of it seeping through his thin boots. It struck him as an odd piece of reality against the unreal seeming knowledge that he was about to be cut through with the same kind of weapon that had murdered two people in his parents' hallway.

Banality… Even in such an extreme situation, people seemed to cling to banality. They almost seemed to expect it more at such times…

He fumbled, and his cane slipped from his grasp, despite the loop about his wrist. He bent to pick it up, feeling in the snow, sensing that his captor would allow him this final banal action.

'Spock, let me – ' McCoy began, bending too, as their human captor muttered something impatiently.

He swept his hands through the icy snow, and his fingertips touched the cane. 'No, I am quite – capable,' he said, and on that word he straightened and spun, flinging a handful of snow straight at where he believed their captor to be standing.

There was a mutter of surprise, and simultaneously he heard more snow being thrown, something being dropped and then, he thought, kicked away. McCoy, thank providence, had understood instantly what was happening. Spock hit out viciously with his cane, swinging it round so fast that it whistled through the air and then contacted with solid flesh, almost at the same time that he heard the crack of bone striking bone. McCoy grabbed hold of his arm, wrenching him sideways, snapping, 'Quick – trust me.'

Spock followed. It was in moments like this that he knew that he trusted the doctor implicitly. He ran, and after a moment the flat ground ended, and he slipped and stumbled over rocks. He did not often believe in luck, but when at that moment he felt a thick flurry of falling snow striking his skin he was almost converted.

'Down!' McCoy hissed, and Spock crouched instantly. He could feel the bulk of something in front of him – presumably rock - and the doctor's hand pressed over the top of his head, keeping him low and still. He made a small movement, and immediately McCoy's fingers pressed over his lips, indicating he should stay silent. He nodded subtly, and waited.

After a few moments McCoy tugged at his arm again. Spock followed, realising he needed to stay crouched when the doctor kept a downward pressure on him. They seemed to be moving painfully slowly, and Spock could not imagine they had moved far before McCoy stopped him again. This time he silently took the cane from Spock's hands, folded it, and handed it back.

Spock nodded, attaching the cane to its place at his waist. Both he and McCoy knew how invaluable the simple device was to him, but at the moment all it was doing was knocking against the ground and risking giving them away.

'Okay,' McCoy murmured finally. 'I think we're far enough away now.'

'Can you still see him, Doctor?' Spock whispered.

'No – snow's too thick. I can only see in about a ten foot radius.'

'That is more to our advantage than disadvantage at the moment,' Spock said softly. 'May I suggest that we keep moving?'

'What about Jim?' the doctor asked insistently, although he obeyed Spock's suggestion and started picking his way down through the rocks again.

'We can't help him,' Spock said flatly. 'We are not equipped.'

'Hell, we're not equipped for *_anything*_,' McCoy complained, his voice rising a little as they moved further and further away from the lodge. 'Spock, you're going to freeze to death.'

'That is infinitely preferable to being executed,' Spock said with feeling, although he was already beginning to feel a numbness creeping from his extremities, following the aching coldness that was penetrating to his bones. 'This way at least gives me a chance of survival.'

'Well, that's true,' McCoy said, although Spock could hear the tone of doubt behind his words.

'Our best chance, Doctor, is to keep moving,' Spock said firmly. 'We must lose altitude before the tri-ox injection you took wears off – and before I freeze,' he added reluctantly. 'Do you believe us far enough away that I can use my cane? *_I*_ can certainly no longer hear *_him*_.'

'Yeah, I think so,' McCoy nodded. 'But like I said, I can't see ten feet away. I got a brief glimpse of the terrain before the snow came down – but I have to tell you, I was concentrating on not getting killed more than I was concentrating on the view.'

'The ahrkit does not hunt in snow storms,' Spock commented. 'That, at least, is to our advantage. Doctor, what *_did*_ you see of the terrain?' he asked. He stumbled a little over a rock, and grasped hold of McCoy's arm with both hands to stop himself falling.

'Spock, are your feet getting numb already?' McCoy asked in concern.

'Doctor, that is not relevant – what of the terrain?' Spock pressed.

'I'll take that as a yes,' McCoy muttered. 'The terrain – the house must've been pretty much at the edge of the plateau. I guess you can tell that from the fact we're going downhill. Aside from that, I didn't see much. It's rocky, there's snow for a good way down. It looked like a relatively steady slope – I couldn't see much in the way of cliffs.'

'No. If memory serves, this part of the mountains is, fortunately, less rugged than the surrounding range. At least, the area surrounding the plateau is. I am not so certain that we will be able to travel with ease further down.'

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Come on,' McCoy said, taking his hands and helping him to manoeuvre over a particularly large and jagged sheet of rock. 'I think that's the last of them for a bit – looks like smoother ground – grass, or whatever you call that purple stuff…'

'I call it grass, just as you do,' Spock told him. 'Has it ever occurred to you, Doctor, that vibrant green grass may have looked just as odd to me when I could see?'

McCoy snorted. 'I don't think anything can look stranger than purple grass, red rocks, and driving white snow. Come on, Spock,' he said again, putting a hand to his back. 'We need to make all the progress we can.'

******

They had been walking steadily for a little over an hour, but the land around them was still covered in patches of snow. Mercifully it was never more than ankle deep, but still, McCoy was growing ever more worried about his Vulcan companion. He had been growing quieter by the minute, and his stumbles and slips were increasing in proportion to his introversion. They had met the occasional small cliff or steeper rock that the doctor had had to help Spock clamber down, and at the last one he had fallen the last few feet, seeming to suddenly lose the ability to cling on with his hands. Finally, on a relatively flat snow-field, his cane slipped from his grasp, and he knelt to find it, feeling with mute frustration through the snow in front of him.

'It's here, Spock,' McCoy told him, picking up the cane and placing it in Spock's hand. He closed his own hand around Spock's as Spock grasped the handle. The Vulcan's fingers had moved over the cane more than once in searching for it, but he had not seemed to feel it.

'Spock, can you feel your fingers?' the doctor asked in concern. He felt cold enough, but the sub-zero temperatures were far more dangerous to a species whose comfort range ran from thirty to fifty or sixty degrees centigrade, especially after the debilitating disruptor treatment the Vulcan had been undergoing. Spock's clothes were soaked, and there were spreading patches of green blood blossoming through the material where he had scraped and grazed his skin on various rocks.

Spock blinked slowly, seeming to have to force his lips to move. 'N-not perfectly, D-doctor,' he admitted.

'Come on,' the doctor said, trying to help him to his feet. 'We need to keep you moving.'

'I – c-cannot feel my feet, either,' Spock said in a tight voice.

'You've got to get up,' McCoy urged him. 'There's no way you'll survive unless we get out of this snow.

Spock closed his eyes for a long moment. 'Forgive me, Doctor,' he murmured. 'I – am tired…'

'Spock, you understand that you have to keep walking, don't you?' McCoy asked him clearly, afraid that the Vulcan was beginning to succumb to exposure. 'It's the only thing keeping us warm. You've got to make an effort.'

'Yes, I know,' Spock said, reaching out for McCoy to help him and clambering clumsily to his feet. 'D-do you see the snowline yet?' he asked, with a hint of desperation entering his voice.

'I think it's another mile or so,' the doctor told him, although truthfully he could see little but snow flurries and thick cloud. He sighed as Spock dropped the cane again, and didn't even seem to realise it had left his fingers. He bent to pick it up, folding it himself and pressing it silently to Spock's belt. 'You can't hold it,' he muttered.

'H-hold it?' Spock echoed blankly, flexing his fingers slowly.

'Your cane. You dropped your cane. I've put it on your belt. Spock, this is crazy,' he said suddenly. 'Look, why don't you take my top?'

Spock immediately straightened, a new determination on his face. 'Such an illogical suggestion,' he said, with real anger entering his voice, pushing away the stammer brought on by the intense cold. 'If you give me your top *_you*_ will risk hypothermia. How shall I get off this mountain without you?'

McCoy pressed a hand on his arm, suddenly overcome with a deep sympathy for the Vulcan's sense of helplessness. He knew that deep below all of his logical disciplines Spock was furious at his inability to be independent in such situations as this.

'Come on,' he said again, steering Spock past a rocky outcrop. Despite his sympathy for the Vulcan, he could see that the anger he had provoked had done wonders for his spirit. He watched the Vulcan's face for a moment, set in a stony, pale determination as he concentrated on making his way across terrain he could not see and could barely feel through numb feet.

'Spock, when you threw that snow, how did you know exactly where that man was standing?' McCoy asked curiously, picking on what was bound to be a point of contention that might keep that fierce Vulcan spirit raised.

Spock hesitated. 'I have spent a lot of time in the ship's gym with the captain, perfecting my combat skills,' he said.

McCoy regarded him sceptically. It was always an indication of something when Spock did not answer a question directly. 'Spock, you hit him straight in the face with a handful of snow. Our entire escape pivoted on him not being able to see where we went because you blinded him. Are you telling me you didn't know exactly where you were aiming?'

'It was fortuitous that the man spoke just before I threw,' Spock said evasively, then admitted, 'No, Doctor, I did not know precisely where I was aiming. I – hoped.'

McCoy stared at him, then smiled slowly. 'You *_guessed*_, Spock,' he said.

'I – extrapolated from those facts of which I could be sure,' Spock said.

'You guessed,' McCoy pressed. 'You were standing there about to be cut down, and you thought you could use the snow on the ground against an energy weapon, and in a moment of desperation you threw, and you hoped…'

'What else would you have had me do, Doctor?' Spock asked, pausing in his step.

'Nothing, Spock,' McCoy said warmly. 'Nothing at all. Believe me, I'm full of admiration for the fact that in those few seconds you formulated a plan and executed it perfectly. We wouldn't be having this conversation now if you hadn't.'

'We would not be having any conversation,' Spock said sombrely. 'Besides, I don't think it was my efforts alone that procured our escape.'

'Well, no,' McCoy admitted. 'I kicked his weapon away when he dropped it, and I slugged him pretty hard, too.'

Spock got the distinct impression that McCoy was smiling with those words. '*_You_* punched him, Doctor?' he asked in a tone of disbelief.

'Yeah,' McCoy replied, slight irritability entering his voice. 'Is that so hard to believe?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'Not at all, Doctor. It's simply that when I heard someone being struck, I was not certain who had hit whom.'

There was a long silence, then McCoy said wryly, 'Congratulations, Spock. You got me riled just like I did you. Now we're feeling better, shall we carry on?'

'We _*are_* carrying on,' Spock pointed out. They had not paused in their descent. 'Doctor, can you see the snowline yet?' he asked again.

'Spock, you just asked me that,' McCoy said softly.

'Yes, I know,' Spock said. 'But we have moved since then. Besides, I did not get the impression that you were being totally honest.'

'Well, maybe not,' McCoy muttered shamefacedly. 'But the snow's let up a bit, and I can see better now. It looks to be about a mile, like I said.'

'Ah,' Spock nodded. He stumbled again, and McCoy caught him by both arms, holding onto him a little longer than was necessary to steady him just to protect him from the wind and snow for a few moments. He could count the occasions that Spock's body temperature fell lower than his on the fingers of one hand, but now the Vulcan's hands and face felt like ice.

'I'm all right,' Spock muttered, straightening away from the grip after a few moments.

'That damn disrupter treatment,' McCoy cursed. 'It can't be helping your stamina.'

'It is not,' Spock said succinctly, stumbling forward again. 'But I can do nothing about it.'

'If I just had my medical kit, I could give you a shot of myletine. Hell, I could give you some glucose, if nothing else…'

'However, you do not have it.'

They walked on in silence. Another half hour passed, and finally the snow was beginning to thin around them, dwindling away to patches in the shade of rocks and crags. It was becoming just perceptibly warmer, but Spock's grip was becoming heavier and heavier on McCoy's arm as the Vulcan became less able to support his own weight. Then Spock straightened abruptly, almost as if he was coming out of sleep, and murmured, 'The snow. It has stopped snowing?'

'Yeah,' the doctor told him. 'The ground's clear. Can't you feel it?'

Something escaped from the Vulcan's mouth that almost sounded like a laugh. 'I can barely feel anything,' he said. He patted his numb hand against his hip, then said, 'My cell-com, Doctor. Does it have a signal yet?'

McCoy reached into Spock's pocket, realising that the Vulcan would not be able to use his cold-numbed hands to get the com himself. He flipped the device open, then shook his head. 'No, Spock. Nothing yet.'

Spock pressed his lips together, and then abruptly his legs bent at the knees, and he was kneeling on the ground, looking simultaneously confused and deeply nauseated.

'Spock!' McCoy hissed, kneeling down beside him.

'I – am not sure…' Spock muttered. 'I don't know what happened…'

'You blacked out for a moment – that's what happened,' McCoy told him succinctly. 'Spock, I'm going to have to carry you,' he said clearly. 'But I don't know how long I can do that for.'

'You won't need to,' Spock said firmly, struggling to regain his feet.

'Spock,' McCoy said, as he slipped back to his knees again. 'Spock, this may not be dignified, but it's the only way,' he said. He manhandled the Vulcan up into a fireman's lift, slinging him across his shoulder and straightening up with difficulty.

Spock began a protest, but he had to acknowledge that he was incapable of walking by now, and he knew that nothing would persuade the doctor to leave him behind. He struggled to stay awake, knowing that it was vital, but try as he might the creeping insensibility kept overcoming his discipline. Then he was vaguely aware that he was being held differently, against a body that seemed far warmer than McCoy's had. And then McCoy was snapping, 'I don't care if open transports are prohibited – this is Commander Spock! This is your Ambassador's son. We don't have time to wait for a shuttle to – '

Then he was coming to somewhere where the scent was overwhelmingly familiar, surrounded by heat, and there were hands stripping wet clothes from his chilled limbs. Then one of the hands brushed briefly over the meld points on his face, and he turned his head, almost murmuring, *_Christine*_ – and then catching himself, and asking, 'Nurse Chapel?'

'You're on the _Enterprise_, Commander,' she said, her formal tone hinting nothing of the love and concern he had felt through her touch. She began to layer soft heat packs over his body, that formed to the contours of his body as they settled over him. 'You're all right now – but we need to warm you up slowly.'

He reached out, touching her arm briefly, letting some feeling for her flow through the touch in lieu of the words he would not use in public. 'McCoy?' he asked, convincing his numb lips to move.

'I'm fine, Spock,' the doctor answered from somewhere near his feet.

'You're close to hypothermia too,' Christine's voice cut in. 'At least let me – '

'Let me deal with Spock first,' McCoy said, putting his hands to Spock's feet, trying to strip his boots off. 'Christine, hand me those scissors, will you?' he asked. There was an odd disproportion between Spock's feet. The thin fabric of his left boot seemed far tighter than the right. 'Spock, when did you sprain your ankle?' he asked, cutting through the fabric to peel the boot away. He touched the swollen joint, and Spock winced.

'I – don't remember,' he said. 'I am only just beginning to regain feeling.' Then he started, and began to try to sit up. 'The captain – ' he began.

'I don't know yet,' McCoy said tersely, as Christine's hands pressured him gently back onto the bed. 'There's only been fifteen minutes between Sudek finding us and beaming up.'

'Sudek?' Spock asked.

'A local farmer. I stumbled into him meditating at the snow line. Something about it symbolising the chasm between life and death, control and dissolution – some Vulcan mumbo-jumbo like that.'

'It is a common practise in those areas,' Spock murmured.

'Well, you can attribute your being alive to that common practise,' McCoy told him. 'I thought I was hallucinating when I saw him kneeling on that rock. He took you and got you back to his house in less than ten minutes.'

Spock raised an eyebrow, making a mental note to contact this Sudek and thank him as soon as he had the opportunity. He could feel his strength and clarity of mind coming back minute by minute as his body heated up.

'But the captain,' he tried again. 'He's still in danger…'

'Spock, it took us over two hours to get off the mountain, and the ship didn't know anything about it until we beamed up,' McCoy said in a gentle tone. 'Whatever they intended to do to Jim, it's been – '

'Our escape would have thrown their plans into disarray,' Spock said stubbornly. 'They have lost half of their bargaining power.'

'Well, apparently the matter is in the hands of the V'shar,' McCoy told him. 'I can't – '

Spock sat bolt upright, pushing the heat packs aside. 'The V'shar, for all their skills, are unused to serious crime, and are certainly not swift in their proceedings.'

'Spock, *_lie down_*!' the doctor snapped, and he felt Christine's hands pressuring at his shoulders again.

'Doctor, I – ' he began, then gasped as pain like a million red-hot needles began to stab at his feet and hands and ears, starting at the far extremities and then creeping slowly back towards his body. As life came back to his feet his left ankle began to _*hurt_* intensely.

'There,' McCoy said in what seemed like a satisfied tone as he sank back onto the bed. 'It's hitting you now, isn't it? I doubt you could stand even if you wanted to.'

'Doctor, I can handle Mr Spock,' Chapel cut in authoritatively, as much to stop the arguing between the exhausted pair as anything else. 'You go warm yourself up. You're not far off hypothermia, and Alban's all set up in the next room, ready to treat you.'

There was a long hesitation, then McCoy said reluctantly, 'All right, Christine – if you're sure you can keep him in bed?'

'I'll take care of him,' she said firmly.

'Evasion,' Spock murmured, as he heard McCoy disappear into the next room. 'Should I understand from that that you will *_not*_ attempt to keep me in bed?'

'You should understand that I will always try to do what's best for you,' she said crisply. She began to layer the heat packs back over him. As she smoothed one out over his chest she touched a hand briefly to his cheek. 'I am – *_very*_ glad that you're all right, Mr Spock,' she said softly. 'I won't embarrass you by expressing more emotion than that – but believe me, it is there.'

'Yes, I know, Christine,' he nodded, reaching out to touch her hand. 'You understand why my mind is fixed on other concerns at this moment in time?' he asked carefully.

'Oh, of course I do,' she smiled. 'I wouldn't expect anything else.'

'Then – you understand why I _*must*_ go to the bridge.'

'No,' she said honestly. 'You want to stand on the bridge because you _*feel_* that you're more in control there. That's illogical, Mr Spock. The truth is, there's nothing you can do on the bridge that you can't do from sickbay.'

Spock closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He had spent enough time in sickbay to know that Christine Chapel was not easily persuaded from the course of action she thought right. The fact that she was presuming to lecture him on logic proved that she felt completely confident of her ability to control him.

'Anyway, are you going to go to the bridge naked?' she asked pointedly.

Spock felt a faint flush of blood touch his cheeks, realising that every inch of his wet clothing had been stripped from him and discarded in the attempt to restore his body's warmth.

'I would hope that you wouldn't make it necessary for me to go to the bridge clad in a sickbay blanket,' he said in a level voice.

'Mr Spock, you're wasting time on a pointless argument,' Christine said firmly. 'I'm not going to help you to the bridge. You're not going to get there without help. Here – ' And she swung the bedside computer arm over the bed, ' – is the computer intercom. Mr Scott is in command.'

Spock pressed his lips together, then decided that there was, as Christine said, little point in arguing. He felt for the intercom button, grateful that his fingers had at least enough feeling in them now to find that.

'Spock to bridge,' he said swiftly. 'Mr Scott.'

'Aye, sir,' Scott replied promptly. 'We're doing what we can, Mr Spock,' he continued without having to be asked. 'But, begging yer pardon, the Vulcan authorities are – well, they're – '

'Intractable, at best,' Spock supplied. As he spoke, he felt Chapel beginning to apply dressings to his various scrapes and bruises. 'Have you located the captain and T'Pring on sensors, Mr Scott?' he asked swiftly.

'Aye, we've located them easily enough,' Scott replied. 'But they've got beaming shields raised. We canna beam them out, or beam anyone straight in there.'

'I see,' Spock nodded. It was not uncommon for houses to possess beaming shields to prevent unwanted intruders, but on Vulcan it was not so common for them to be raised. If Sarek and Amanda had activated theirs by rote, then Caroline Seaton and her husband would not be dead. 'Mr Scott, there is nothing preventing you from beaming a security team to just outside the house.'

'Sir, if we beam a security team down against Vulcan orders, there'll be hell to pay,' Scott protested.

'Mr Scott, if you do not beam a security team down, and the captain dies, there will be hell to pay,' Spock said in a voice that was loaded with threat despite the steadiness of his tone. 'Am I correct in assuming that there is no physical bar to direct transports – only a legal one?'

'Aye, you're right in that,' Scott nodded.

'Then assemble a team of eight men, fully armed, and have Sacha brought to the transporter room, with her harness. Include Commander Giotto in the team. I will meet them there.'

'You, sir?' Scott faltered.

'That is what I said, Mr Scott,' Spock said firmly. 'Spock out.'

He closed the channel, and sat up. 'Now, Miss Chapel,' he said, his voice holding nothing but firm formality. 'If you have finished dressing my wounds – '

'Mr *_Spock_*,' she began swiftly.

Spock swung his legs over the edge of the bed. 'I assure you, Christine, I feel much better,' he said in a more reassuring tone, then he continued more sternly, 'And I *_will_* be going to the transporter room, with or without your assistance. I am the first officer of this ship, I am currently the most senior officer aboard, and you do not have the power to keep me here.'

He began to stand up, wincing slightly as his injured ankle touched the floor. He raised his face, waiting for Chapel to reply to him – but there was silence, and a surprising and distinct impression of sexual arousal in the air.

'Do you realise how attractive you are when you're masterful?' she said finally, in a tone pitched only for Vulcan hearing.

Spock raised an eyebrow. Humans seemed to be distracted so easily. Her own arousal was infectious, but it was simple enough as a Vulcan to keep that compartmentalised in another part of his mind from his urgent thoughts of rescuing the captain and T'Pring. It did, however, make him very aware of the fact that he was completely naked.

'I need clothing,' he said, allowing a sense of his acceptance of her feelings to touch her mind as he spoke.

'Wait a minute,' she said. She went briefly into another room, spoke indistinctly to someone, then returned. 'Here's a uniform,' she said, putting clothing down beside him on the bed. 'You're lucky Alban gave Leonard a sedative, otherwise he'd been in here arguing too.'

'Dr McCoy is asleep?' Spock asked, one eyebrow raising in mild surprise.

'He was exhausted. I should've done the same for you.'

'I am grateful you did not,' Spock said, feeling beside him for the clothes. 'I have greater stamina than the doctor, and a much better recovery curve. I honestly do feel greatly revived now I am warmer.'

'Your readings *_are_* improving,' she said critically. 'Bear with me while I get a support for that ankle. Will you need a painkiller?' she asked, her voice fading and strengthening again as she moved briefly out of the room and back again.

'I would rather not,' Spock said, carefully feeling through the clothes she had brought him. 'Would – you help me with these?' he asked rather hesitantly. 'I don't have full feeling in my hands yet.'

'Of course,' she said, starting to sort out the clothes and handing them to him with the correct orientation. 'Now, I'm going to give you this – ' she said, injecting something directly into his ankle – 'to reduce the swelling, and I'll put this support on it,' she said, fastening something about the joint that gave a constant light pressure and a good deal of support. 'I didn't get you a crutch, since you'll have the cane – or Sacha, but I think the support will be enough, and you can lean on me if needs be. I'll have cold weather gear for both of us brought to the transporter room.'

'For both of us?' Spock repeated, his eyebrow beginning to slant up under his fringe.

'Mr Spock, you are recovering from hypothermia, you have a sprained ankle, and Dr McCoy will have my hide just for letting you out of bed, let alone letting you beam back down to Vulcan,' she said firmly. 'I know I can't stop you from going, short of sedating you, but I am not letting you go without medical support.'

Spock took in a deep breath, then said calmly, 'Are you trained in the use of a phaser, Christine?'

'You bet I am,' she said brightly.

'Then bring one.'


	12. Chapter 12

12.

They beamed down into air that was still bitingly cold on Spock's face and hands, but that was mercifully insulated from the rest of his skin this time by his highly efficient cold weather gear. His ankle throbbed dully, but the injection and the support took the worst of the pain away, and his own disciplines made sure that the rest did not hinder him. Sacha stood by his side, the warmth of her body pressed close against his leg as if she understood his pain. It was a great relief to him, after so many weeks, to finally have the dog back at his side.

If they had beamed in as per orders, they should now be standing on a slight rise of land a hundred feet from the lodge, in a place that Commander Giotto had judged to be relatively hidden from the house by the large scattered rocks that surrounded the area. At some point in Vulcan's lengthy history glaciers had swept down these mountainsides, leaving a tumble of ice-smoothed boulders behind them. They had proved awkward enough during Spock and McCoy's escape from this place, but they made perfect cover for a mission such as this.

The instant that the beam released him Spock crouched, ignoring the twinge of pain that the movement created in his ankle. He put a hand lightly on Sacha's back to keep her silent, letting his fingers bury deep into her thick, warm fur. He could hear the slight noises of Nurse Chapel and the security team around him, breathing softly, and could tell that they, too, had crouched. The surroundings seemed perfectly silent. Judging by the hour, dusk would be beginning to fall, and the half-light could only give them an advantage.

Spock turned his head towards Commander Giotto.

'The area's deserted, sir,' Giotto said in a low voice before he could ask. 'No recent footprints. Looks like – maybe twenty minutes at this rate of snowfall since anyone was out there. There's not much cover for the men down there, apart from the house itself – but I don't think that'll be a problem, since the hostiles seem to be inside.'

Spock nodded briefly at the description of the area and situation. The commander had seemed sceptical of Spock's abilities in the early months of his blindness, but now he managed to work seamlessly with the Vulcan, feeding him information as required and never questioning his judgement without a sound reason.

He slipped the earpiece of his converted tricorder into his ear, and directed it towards the house, letting its responses guide his aim towards the warmer structure that stood out against the cold surroundings. He could not imagine many humans being able to interpret the many different blips and warbles that the earpiece fed into his ear. One of the greatest advantages he had in his blindness was his acute hearing and the ability of his brain to separate and understand the various layers of input from his instruments.

'I'm not getting clear readings of the interior at this range. How dark is it?' he asked. In this light, nothing filtered into his eyes.

'Still light enough to see by,' Giotto murmured. 'It's only just starting to fade.'

'Is there cover enough to get closer to the house?' Spock asked.

'Plenty, sir, to within about – ten metres – of the front entrance.'

'Then we will move closer,' Spock said decisively. 'We can take more detailed scans from there. Nurse Chapel?'

'Yes, sir,' she murmured, moving a little closer to him.

'Miss Chapel, I will need your help here,' he said in an undertone.

Despite the closeness that had grown between them, it seemed best to keep his address and manner formal in front of the security men. The _Enterprise_ was a relatively small community, and gossip spread quickly in its corridors.

'Sacha is quite useful,' he continued, 'but she can't tell me if my head is visible above the rocks. May I take your arm, and rely upon your eyesight to help me?'

'Of course, Mr Spock,' she nodded.

Spock reached out to touch her arm. Covered by her insulating coat, it could have been anyone's arm, but for the swell of mental impressions he received from the closer contact with her. It was far more agreeable taking guidance from her than from one of the security men.

'There's no need for concern,' he said more quietly, sensing her mixed feelings about the rocky ground ahead. 'You forget I've just spent quite some time walking through this terrain.'

'I know,' she said with a smile, then her voice turned more businesslike as she said, 'There's relatively clear ground for about five metres, with a high boulder at the end – just a small scatter of rocks on the ground. You should be able to stand upright without being seen.'

Spock nodded mutely, and straightened up, hearing the security men fall in around him in a protective formation. It was logical, he knew, that the sighted guards surrounded him in this way, but he was more grateful for the protection they were affording Christine than himself. Affection, it seemed, altered his own reason almost as much as it altered the reason of humans under the same conditions.

After a short clamber down the hillside they found a relatively sheltered place just a few feet from the flat yard in front of the lodge, hidden by the same rocks that had helped Spock and McCoy escape from their would-be executioners earlier.

'Have your men reconnaissance the area,' Spock told Giotto swiftly. 'We will force entry if we must. The captain was being held in a room approximately thirty metres from the entrance way.'

'We've got his bio-readings in the tricorders,' Giotto assured him. 'If the room's on the outside of the building, we should be able to detect them and make an entry there, if it's safe.'

'I would suggest having men ready to enter through the main entrance and pick up the terrorists,' Spock advised him. 'They have proved themselves to be quite volatile.'

'All right,' Giotto murmured. 'Hughes, Robinson, Alonso, you'll come to the right with me. Leslie, Barnabas, and Petrov, you take the left. Take readings – I want locations and numbers of people in there. Keep alert for the captain and the Vulcan woman. Report as you go. Cabato and Satie, I want you to stay at the front here with Commander Spock. Keep watch on that door.'

Spock turned his head toward where he knew the main entrance to the house to be, aiming his tricorder in that direction and trying again to get more detailed readings. He focussed his mind too, with finer control than he could give the tricorder – and at last could sense a mind of cold, clear, straight lines and precise ideas, and knew that T'Pring, at least, was alive. If she was alive, there was a chance that Jim was too.

He took a single step closer. If only he could get closer, perhaps inside – he might even be able to pick up speech, and gain a better insight on the terrorists' plans. He might be able to get close enough to T'Pring to make her aware of him, perhaps even to communicate.

'Sir,' Giotto said in a firm voice. He had learnt to read the Vulcan's subtle expressions, and it was obvious what he was thinking. 'Mr Spock, I can't allow you to go in there. You'd be endangering the captain and yourself.'

Spock pressed his lips together. He wanted to be able to disagree, but he knew that the security chief was right. He could manage many facets of his job, but a security operation involving desperate terrorists equipped with vicious weapons was not one of them. He wanted to slip through the door and move as close as possible to the terrorists without being detected, and that was, categorically, something he needed sight for.

He flexed his hand on Sacha's harness, suppressing his annoyance at himself until it ceased to bother him.

'Of course,' Spock nodded finally. 'You are squandering time, Commander.'

He turned his head, listening carefully to the soft footfalls of the security men as they moved out about they house. Their feet compressing the snow made a distinct noise – half crunch, half squeak – and even the low sound of their voices occasionally reached his ears. If he could hear them, it was possible that the Vulcans inside could hear them too – although he had the advantage that there were no walls between him and them.

'Miss Chapel, can you hear our men?' he asked after a few minutes had passed.

She looked towards the house, and shrugged. 'Not at all,' she said.

'Hmm,' Spock nodded. 'I can.'

'You *_are_* better at paying attention to noises than most people,' she suggested carefully. 'It might not mean the Vulcans inside can hear them.'

'No. I am aware of that,' he nodded. His brow furrowed momentarily, then he said, 'Would you take me to the door?'

'Sir, Commander Giotto said – ' one of the security men began.

Spock recognised the voice of Lieutenant Satie. He had obviously been listening to the conversation.

'Is the area still devoid of hostiles?' Spock cut across him. 'Is there any sign of activity at the front of the house, either visually or on sensors?'

'No, sir,' the man began. 'But – '

'I am very well aware of Commander Giotto's suggestion,' Spock said sternly. 'I am not going to open the door. I am going to listen through its panels. Miss Chapel?'

'Just over here,' she murmured, touching his arm.

He followed her through the light snow until she said softly, 'It's just here,' guiding his hand to the flat wooden surface.

Spock stepped a little closer, and put his ear carefully to the door. The wood seemed thick, and did not let through a large amount of noise. He held the tricorder against it, and the device detected no life forms within twenty metres. At that point, however, it detected a small mass of living bodies, both human and Vulcan. Raised blood pressure, slightly elevated temperatures, sharp, swift movements…

Spock frowned, putting his ear to the door again, listening intently. He could make out no separate words, but there seemed to be an argument in progress – not a fight, as the readings had perhaps suggested, but simply a heated debate. There were two different timbres of voice – the raised but almost monotone speech of angry Vulcans, and the more fluctuating, unpredictable noise of humans.

'Satie,' he said, beckoning without turning his head. 'Cabato.'

'Sir,' two voices said almost in unison, as Lieutenant Satie and Ensign Cabato came to him.

'There is some kind of argument going on inside,' he said in a low voice. 'At least five persons, in the hallway, I believe.' He stiffened suddenly, turning his ear toward the air behind him. 'What is that? A shuttle?'

'A two man skimmer, sir,' Cabato said in amazement, turning to gaze in the direction Spock was listening. 'Not official, I don't think. No markings.'

Spock pressed his lips together, then flipped open his communicator, snapping, 'Spock to Giotto,' even as he swung round to face the anonymous vehicle.

'Giotto here,' the security chief replied in a low voice. 'We've detected them, sir. If we can just get this window open – '

'Belay that for a moment,' Spock said quickly. 'We have company, Commander. An unidentified skimmer.'

'How many occupants?' Giotto asked swiftly.

'No more than two, we believe.'

There was a moment of hesitation, then Giotto said, 'Sir, if you believe the four of you can handle them, then I'd prefer to continue here. The captain and the Vulcan woman are alone in the room – we may not have another opportunity like this, especially if the terrorists are disturbed by the new arrival.'

'Acknowledged,' Spock nodded. 'Go ahead, Commander.'

He flipped his communicator shut, and raised his face to the noise of the slowly descending skimmer. The engines made no more sound than a low hum. Spock could still hear the light patter of snowflakes and the small movements of his companions even over that noise, explaining why none of them had been aware of the skimmer until it had come so close.

'Phasers on stun,' Spock murmured, raising his own specially adapted weapon as the skimmer settled down. 'Do not fire unless absolutely necessary.'

The door of the skimmer creaked, two feet crunched into the snow, then the door shut with a dull bang. The sole occupant seemed distracted – but he must suddenly have seen the small group near the door of the house, because he stopped still, then said in a tone of barely repressed anger, '*_You*_.'

'Stonn,' Spock said quickly, recognising the voice. 'Stonn is – not an enemy,' he said carefully to the security men. 'He is T'Pring's husband.'

'*_You* _are the one who convinced my wife to this madness,' Stonn continued in a harsh, loud voice, that seemed to echo from the rocks and the walls of the house. He was moving towards them swiftly, obviously driven by an anger that he was finding it difficult to suppress, at least in his voice and his movements.

'T'Pring did nothing against her own will,' Spock pointed out. 'I am not her master.'

'No. That duty falls to me,' Stonn replied flatly.

Spock raised an eyebrow. It was incredible that the logical, scientific T'Pring would fall for a man of such archaic feelings. T'Pau may have cautioned T'Pring during koon-ut-kal-if-fee that she would become the property of the victor, but the ritual warning had no place in modern law. The fact that Spock had allowed Stonn to take her did not mean that he actually _*owned_* her. Perhaps there was one emotional flaw in T'Pring after all – perhaps she was susceptible to love, or lust, and little logic had interfered with her choice.

'Then, you convinced the V'Shar to disclose T'Pring's location?' Spock asked. It was perhaps possible that they would have done so to the consort of one of the hostages, in the belief that a logical Vulcan would do nothing rash with the information.

'I convinced them,' Stonn nodded. His voice was levelling back to a monotone now as he controlled the primitive Vulcan anger that had driven him towards Spock. 'After a small amount of persuasion. And while the V'Shar are involved in discussions as to how to extract the hostages peacefully, I thought I would come and save my consort's life.'

'Our men are, at this moment – '

The chirrup of his communicator cut through his words, and he answered instantly. Giotto spoke, sounding hurried.

'Captain and the Vulcan woman secured,' he snapped. 'Hostiles must've detected the skimmer. They're coming towards you.'

'Acknowledged,' Spock said simply, letting the communicator grille drop closed. 'Cabato, Satie, stand ready. Stonn, are you armed?'

'No,' Stonn said simply.

'Then please stand behind us.'

As he spoke, the door of the lodge burst open with a clatter of noise. Simultaneously, there was a burst of phaser fire, and the sound of bodies hitting the ground. And then, 'No!' from Satie, simultaneous with a gasp of shock from Christine. Spock's first, split-second instinct was relief, because it was obvious through his thread-like connection to Christine's mind that she was unharmed. Her phaser had fired just as quickly as those of the security guards – but perhaps no one had fired quite soon enough. His own reactions, hampered by the need to be guided by sound instead of sight, were as slow as a human's now.

'Report,' he snapped.

'Cabato,' Christine said in a voice loaded with the artificial calm of duty. 'He was hit.'

Spock tightened his hand on Sacha's harness. They had beamed down to save people from harm, not to be harmed themselves. He could smell human blood now, the scent carrying only slowly through the freezing air.

'Satie, beam up with him immediately,' he ordered.

'Sir, it's – too late for that,' Satie said, sounding shaken. 'His – er – his body is severed diagonally across the chest.'

'He's – quite dead,' Christine said, in a much calmer voice than Satie's. 'There's no question of it.'

'The terrorists?' Spock asked. There was nothing he could do for Cabato – he had to move on to the next important concern.

'Unconscious,' Christine said, and this time he heard her medical scanner whirring to confirm her judgement.

'How many?' Spock asked swiftly.

'Two Vulcan males, one Vulcan female, and two human males,' Satie said, moving past him. 'Do you believe that to be all of them, sir?'

'I cannot be certain,' Spock said, 'But it seems likely.'

'That's all of them,' came a wonderfully familiar voice, as a small group of people jogged around the side of the house. 'Confirmed on Chief Giotto's scans.'

'Jim,' Spock said, turning towards him, letting his relief through into his voice. Sacha stood, and began to guide him towards the captain. 'You are unhurt?'

'I am unhurt,' Kirk said, touching Spock's arm warmly as the Vulcan reached him. 'But you, Mr Spock, were supposed to be dead.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'I hope I haven't disappointed you, sir.'

'I've never been more glad to see you, Spock,' Kirk grinned, patting his arm. 'Good God, to go from thinking you and Bones had been sliced apart out here, to having Giotto and his men bust open that window and tell me you were both fine…'

'Jim,' Spock said gravely. It was obvious that Kirk had not yet seen the body. Cabato had probably been screened from Kirk's sight by the small group at the front door. 'Ensign Cabato has been killed.'

There was silence. Kirk moved a few steps, presumably to see for himself, and then returned to Spock.

'There's another notch on their stick,' he muttered. 'Have him beamed up,' he said in that odd, toneless voice he reserved for times of emotional strain.

Spock turned his head towards a noise of light, swift footsteps crunching on the light snow that covered the ground.

'Is that T'Pring?' he asked, certain that he could sense her personality moving closer with those footsteps.

'Yes,' Christine said.

It was the first time she had spoken since Kirk had joined them, and that single word was loaded with distrust and disapproval. During that night on the ship Spock had felt it expedient to tell her about T'Pring, and the nature of his relationship with her. He had been almost overwhelmed by Christine's very human, very emotional sense of outrage at the woman's behaviour toward him at koon-ut-kal-if-fee.

'Spock,' T'Pring said in her clear voice as she reached them. He could sense her attention flickering over the scene – taking in Cabato's body, and dismissing it, then travelling over Nurse Chapel, who stood at Spock's side. There was a pause, and then she said with a very slight edge of disdain to her voice, 'And this is your nurse, from your ship.'

Spock nodded curtly. He had no patience for T'Pring's strange, cool jealousy at the moment.

'I assume this rescue was on your command, Spock,' she continued. 'It's fortunate that it was a success – at least, as regards the objective of securing our safety and capturing the terrorists.'

'And don't you even want to thank him?' Christine asked icily.

T'Pring turned a raised eyebrow on her. 'Was it not logical to initiate a process that would save lives and arrest the terrorists?'

Spock could feel Christine's anger rising. He turned toward her and said softly, 'It is not custom on Vulcan to thank a person for a logical action. It is the least that can be expected of one.'

He turned his head abruptly, catching the tingle and the slight scent of ozone that warned of an impending transport.

'Captain, we are about to have company,' he said in a low voice, even as the barely perceptible tingle built into a definable noise of more than one person materialising not far away.

Kirk turned sharply to see seven figures solidifying just ten feet from their position, and said simply, 'Police, Spock. The V'Shar have finally decided to arrive.'

'I see,' Spock said in a level tone. 'I imagine they will not be pleased with my conduct. I would not think it prudent to beam up, Captain.'

'No, I don't want to anger the Vulcan authorities – more than they already are,' Kirk concurred.

As soon as the paralysing effect of the beam slackened the foremost V'Shar officer moved towards them, asking tersely, 'Who was in command of this transportation?'

His eyes had moved over the scene, taking in the huddle of unconscious civilians, the dead man in Starfleet uniform, and the rescued hostages in less than a second, but, like T'Pring, he had dismissed all that was not relevant at that point in time.

'I was,' Spock said flatly, stepping forward. 'I am Commander Spock of the Starship _Enterprise_.'

'And I'm in command of him,' Kirk said quickly, coming to his side. 'Captain James Kirk. I can deal with this, officer. The dead man was a member of my crew.'

The male officer raised a single eyebrow, his face somehow devoid of emotion, but still registering scorn. 'And the death occurred on Vulcan – as did the beaming down of an armed security detail expressly against current Vulcan policy banning open transports and the transportation of weapons. Commander Spock will be accompanying us. He is under arrest.'

'Captain,' Spock said in a low voice, feeling Kirk's readiness to argue. 'They are quite correct. I must go with them. Would you take Sacha?'

He held out the handle of Sacha's harness toward Kirk, feeling as much reluctance in the dog to leave his side as he felt to hand her over to another's care so soon after being reunited with her. Kirk took the harness, and silently took the modified phaser that Spock handed him at the same time. It was a type-1 phaser, almost palm size, and it was possible that the V'Shar would not see him passing the weapon to his captain. It seemed prudent not to let them know that he carried such a weapon despite his blindness.

'If you are ready,' the officer said, putting his hand on Spock's arm. 'My men will stay to take details from you and the others present, Captain Kirk. Can they trust in your cooperation?'

'Of course, officer,' Kirk said, trying his best to sound meek and cooperative – it could only help Spock.

'I need to go with him,' Christine said suddenly as the V'Shar officer pulled at Spock's arm to make him walk forwards. She stepped forward convulsively, as if a rubber band holding her had snapped. Spock turned his head to her in surprise. He appreciated her desire to be at his side, but he was quite capable of taking care of himself.

'Indeed?' the Vulcan officer asked. 'May I ask why?'

'Mr Spock is recovering from hypothermia,' she said glibly, although that had not been the sole motivation for her request. 'I am a nurse – I need to monitor his condition.'

'We have Healers we can call on,' the officer said, turning away from her again.

'Healers who are experienced with half-human physiology?' Christine challenged him, refusing to let his dismissal shake her. 'Mr Spock has recently undergone intensive therapy to help cure his blindness, and even more recently has been subjected to hypothermia. He's at greater risk of bleeding, stroke, collapse. Do you think your healers know enough about Mr Spock's unique physiology, and the unique therapy he's undergone, to treat him?'

There was a long pause, and then finally the officer said, 'Perhaps it is logical that you accompany us. You can check his condition periodically. Come.'

She moved over to him, the Vulcan officer beckoning her quite clearly to stand on the opposite side from Spock, so that his bulk was a barrier between them. She threw a quick glance at Kirk, to be sure that he approved of her actions, and he gave her a slight smile, and a nod.

'We'll get this straightened out, Spock,' he said firmly. 'You'll be fine.'

'I have no doubt of that, Captain,' Spock said confidently. 'I acted only according to logic. Logic will vindicate me.'

At a short command from the V'Shar officer, the three of them dissolved into three gold shimmers, leaving Kirk standing in the snow, a dead man at his feet, and a small platoon of V'Shar officers watching him with impassive eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

13.

The room Spock found himself in was quite simple. It was a temporary holding cell, and there was nothing more in it than a bed. The door was evidently solid and locked with a mechanical lock – a logical, simple way to overcome the problem of forcefields being tampered with electronically, or cut off during power failures. It smelt and felt scrupulously clean, and was kept at a constant heat that allayed the need for blankets on the bed or any extraneous clothing. He lay on the bed with his eyes closed, using the opportunity to think back on the events of the past few hours, and analyse his actions in accordance with logic.

He had been held so far for two hours. He assumed that the V'Shar were collating evidence before questioning him. That was usual procedure. He was, he had to admit, a little bored, but he had no thought of attempting to break out. For one, the task seemed nearly impossible, and secondly, he had little desire to make himself even more of transgressor under Vulcan law. He had committed a crime. He knew that, and had accepted that fact when he had beamed down. When the time came he would defend himself with logic, and logic would determine whether or not his actions were acceptable. In his mind they were. He had acted to save lives. The death of Cabato was an inconvenience for his argument – but the lives of Captain Kirk and T'Pring had been saved, and five dangerous terrorists were now in custody. Logic, he hoped, would release him. If it did not, he would have to accept the punishment for his actions – which would be, he supposed, a length of incarceration and sessions with a tutor to correct his faults in reason. He had no desire to spend time in a Vulcan penitentiary, but if he had no option, he would accept the punishment without argument.

The lock turned, and Spock sat up and swung his legs to the floor as the door opened. He knew instantly that it was Christine – he recognised the mental emanations as easily as he recognised the scent of her shampoo and perfume. There was another there too, though – a V'Shar officer, he supposed – and he kept his face composed in an impassive mask.

'Nurse Chapel,' he said steadily, keeping his tone purely formal. It did not seem wise to suggest to the officer that the nurse's motives for being here were anything other than professional.

'Commander,' she said in a similar tone, coming across the room to him. 'They said I could check your condition. Is your ankle – '

She broke off, sucking in breath as Spock raised his face to her.

'Mr Spock, you have a nosebleed,' she said quickly. 'Did you get hit?'

Spock's eyes narrowed.

'No, I did not,' he said, touching his fingertips to his nose. He tasted the wetness that they found, and raised an eyebrow. 'You are quite correct,' he said in a curious tone.

The bleed must have just started, because he had not noticed the taste at the back of his mouth until now. Christine's scanner whirred, and he could feel her concern as she moved the device to focus on various areas of his body.

'Further cell degradation throughout your body,' she murmured as she analysed the results. 'The nosebleed is a symptom of that. Your blood pressure must have increased when you sat up. There's some bleeding into your stomach and gut, too, and into the bruised tissues of your ankle.'

'The increase should not have been that great,' Spock said curiously.

'The increase would normally have been negligible,' she said grimly. 'I'm worried that such a small increase provoked a nosebleed. Has Dr McCoy given you any myletine in the past ten hours?'

Spock shook his head. 'He mentioned something about it during our escape from the lodge, but he did not have his medical kit. Unless he gave me some on our beam-up…'

'No, he didn't. I'll give you some now, then,' she told him, taking out a hypo and pressing it to his arm. 'That should stabilise the degradation for now – but I'd like him to see a doctor,' she said, raising her face to the V'Shar officer.

'We will contact a healer,' the officer said in a monotone.

Christine hesitated. Spock could sense her reluctance to allow anyone other than a doctor from the _Enterprise_ to look at him.

'A Vulcan healer will be quite adequate – if you really think it necessary that I see a doctor,' Spock said quietly.

'I really think it necessary,' she nodded.

'Have you finished, Nurse?' the officer asked, a very slight edge of impatience in his tone. It was obvious that he thought Nurse Chapel's assiduous attention to his prisoner was unnecessary.

There was a pause. Spock could sense Christine's reluctance to leave him. She bent close to him, on the pretext of giving him a closer examination, touching her fingertips to the side of his face as she studied his eyes. Spock caught a sense of her concern, that was quickly covered by feelings of reassurance and love.

*_The captain's working on it_,* she thought to him, and Spock silently acknowledged her statement, aware that the V'Shar officer would be able to sense any overt telepathic contact from him. There were many questions he would like to ask her, but none of them seemed prudent, since they did not relate to her position as a medical assistant.

Her fingers dropped from his face.

'I'd like you to stay lying down,' she said to him. 'Try to stay relaxed, keep your blood pressure low.'

'I will do so,' Spock nodded.

Sensing her scepticism at his willingness to follow medical orders, he lay back on the bed, and folded his hands on his stomach. He turned his head sideways, raising an eyebrow.

'Good,' she said in approval. 'I'll be back to check on you in half an hour, if the healer hasn't come first.'

Spock waited until he was alone again, and then inhaled deeply, steadying the misgivings that were beginning to spin in his mind. Perhaps it had been a result of the extreme cold he had been subjected to, and the intense exercise of escaping from the lodge, but the continued cell degradation was disturbing. If it should somehow interfere with his continued treatment…

No. There was nothing he could do about it. Instead of focussing on that, he should be focussing on the terrorists that had been captured just a few hours before. There was something there at the back of his mind – something that did not quite seem right about the small group – but he could not pin it down.

He found himself suddenly jerking awake, and he blinked, momentarily disoriented. He passed his hand over the surface that he lay on, reminding himself that he was in the custody of the V'Shar, and lying on a narrow bed in one of their holding cells. He had not realised he had fallen asleep.

'Commander Spock,' a low female voice said, and he turned his head sharply. 'I am Healer T'Jiah. I have come to examine you.'

Spock began to sit up, but she said quickly, 'I would prefer you remain prone, considering your condition.'

'And what is my condition?' Spock asked plainly, resting himself back on the bed as her scanner whirred.

'Moderate to severe cell breakdown throughout your body,' she said succinctly. 'You have already had myletine. Vylashar will complement the effects. However, I would suggest halting this treatment about which your Nurse Chapel has informed me.'

'The treatment is restoring my sight,' Spock said with a slight edge to his voice.

'It is also eroding the cell membranes throughout your body, including your brain. There is a possibility of brain damage.'

Spock sat up abruptly, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress.

'On what do you base that conclusion?' he asked sharply.

'As I said, moderate to severe cell breakdown throughout your body. The effects are most severe in the locality of your eyes – *_id est*_, your brain.'

'The Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_ has carried out very thorough scans after each instance of treatment,' Spock said, still with the edge of sharpness in his voice. 'There have been certain problems associated with the treatment, but they have never been judged to be permanent.'

'Commander Spock,' the woman said, sitting down beside him on the bed. Spock turned his head toward her. It was rare that a Vulcan would assume such a familiar position with a stranger. Perhaps T'Jiah possessed more of a bedside manner than most Vulcan healers.

'Commander Spock,' she said in a soft, but very clear tone. 'My scans indicate that, in essence, a dam has burst – if you will forgive the metaphor. You have abused your body with disruptor rays for over five months, if the information Nurse Chapel passed to me was correct. The treatment was debilitating, but safe – to a point. I would say that you have reached that point. A more intense treatment combined with extremes of heat and cold, over-exertion, exhaustion and stress seem to have been more than the cells of your body can cope with. I would recommend halting the treatment – at least for a period, until your body has recovered.'

The recommendation echoed in Spock's mind like a sentence passed down by a judge. Was this it? Was this the prosaic end to his hope for sight? His body simply could not take the treatment, and it must be stopped. Every hope he had for the future, altered by the one monumental fact of his blindness…

Spock drew in a long breath, then said steadily, 'I would like to consult with my own physician.'

He had his arguments with McCoy often enough, but it was undeniable that the doctor often came up with solutions far more innovative than the restricted thinking of many doctors managed – especially, he had to admit, the logic-restricted thinking of Vulcan doctors. Dr McCoy, he was certain, would think of an alternative to halting the treatment.

'Of course you are at liberty to consult your own physician,' T'Jiah said smoothly. There was a subtle undercurrent of sympathy – or was it simply condescension? – in her precise, emotionless tone. 'I have been called here simply to assess your condition at this time, rather than to prescribe any long term solutions. I will, however, communicate my findings to the chief medical officer of your ship. Medical ethics would not allow me to act in any other way.'

'Of course,' Spock murmured.

He had to put this out of his mind at the moment, and focus on his suspicions surrounding the terrorists. It was something – something he had heard – something to do with the human members of the group. He knew that if he could only pin it down it might tell him something very important. He had no time for personal concerns right now.

'I will give you two units of vylashar,' the healer continued, touching a hypo to Spock's neck and releasing the drug into his system. She exhaled minutely as she removed the tip of the hypo, then pressed something soft to his neck, and Spock realised that even the normally non-invasive action of the hypo had caused him to bleed.

'The drug will increase cell cohesion within thirty minutes,' she told him as she put the hypo away. 'May I examine your ankle? I'm told you have suffered a sprain.'

Spock nodded silently, submitting to the woman's ministrations as she removed the support from his ankle and examined it closely. He had to admit that the pain had been increasing in that area – presumably as the bleeding that Nurse Chapel had mentioned had increased the swelling. She gave him another injection that immediately relieved some of the pain, and rebound it in the support.

As she was replacing her equipment in her bag the cell door opened again. Spock recognised the distinctive clack of V'Shar boots on the hard floor as the man entered.

'Commander Spock,' the man said in a formal tone. 'Has Healer T'Jiah finished?'

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow, turning his face towards the healer, and she said quickly, 'I have just finished this moment. I would suggest the Commander attempts to rest, and consults his own doctor when possible.'

'It will be possible very soon,' the V'Shar said. 'Commander Spock, following intercessions from the Starfleet liaison on Vulcan, Captain Kirk of the Starship _Enterprise_, Professor T'Pring of the Vulcan Science Academy, _*and_* Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, all charges pertaining to your illegal transportation with weapons have been voided. You are – quite free.'

Spock nodded concisely. The man did not sound content with the decision, but Spock was not about to argue with it. He stood up carefully, testing the strength of his ankle. It seemed more comfortable than it had, so he straightened his top with his hands, and turned to the V'Shar officer.

'Your effects, Commander,' the officer continued, touching a bag to Spock's hand.

Spock took it, running his fingers over it, feeling objects through the thin plastic. His folded cane was the most obvious, but he thought it best to leave it in the bag until he had left the cell area.

'Is Nurse Chapel still present?' he asked.

'She's in the waiting suite,' the man said. 'Follow me.'

Spock nodded again. Obviously the man was not going to offer him guidance, so he focussed his mind carefully on listening to his movements, and followed him out of the room.

He was made aware of Christine's presence before he entered the room she was in, by hearing her voice, raised in discussion with someone. By briefly extending his mental awareness he could sense two very familiar personalities as he walked through the door, brightened by the pleasure of his imminent release. There was Christine, but there was also Jim, who had presumably transported over here as soon as he was able. There was no scent or sound of Sacha – he assumed Kirk had returned her to the _Enterprise_ rather than have her suffer the heat at lower Vulcan altitudes.

'No, there's definitely a different accent here,' he heard Christine saying in a firm but friendly tone. 'Perhaps women are more attuned, Captain – I think Lieutenant Uhura would hear it. It's – less clipped than the accent in ShiKahr. There may be planet-wide unity, but – '

'Oh, Spock,' Kirk cut across her warmly as he saw the Vulcan – but then his tone changed to concern. Spock was standing frozen, his head slightly tilted as if listening to something only he could hear.

'Spock, are you all right?' he asked.

Spock shook himself, turning towards his captain. 'Quite all right, Jim,' he said slowly, appearing to still be concentrating on something else. 'Captain, do you have your communicator with you?'

'Of course, Spock,' Kirk said, puzzled.

'Would you mind contacting the _Enterprise_ and making an enquiry? Namely, is there a ship from, or associated with, Horner 5 in orbit?'

Spock could sense Kirk's continued curiosity, but with an unspoken trust of Spock's judgement and motives he opened his communicator and said briskly, 'Kirk to _Enterprise_. Scotty, do a scan of current ships in Vulcan orbit. Is there a ship from or related to the planet Horner 5 up there?'

'One moment, sir,' Scott's clipped voice replied, slightly tinny through the communicator. 'Aye, sir,' he said finally. 'There's a wee cruiser orbiting not far off. The _Ventura Bell_. Complement of fifteen. It's registered at Horner 5.'

Spock stiffened as if he had been electrified by that information.

'Thank you, Scotty,' Kirk said, eyeing Spock curiously. 'Spock, is that all you – '

'It is,' Spock nodded, seeming ever more distracted. 'The date, Captain,' he began as Kirk dismissed Scott and closed his communicator.

'It's the third day of – ' Christine began, as Kirk hesitated.

Spock had almost forgotten her presence, and he turned toward her in momentary surprise.

'Yes,' he said slowly. 'It is the third...'

Kirk could almost see the neurones firing in the Vulcan's mind, his eyes seeming even more blank with the internalisation of thought. Then he suddenly seemed to reach a conclusion, and turned to his captain.

'The final meeting is held at the Academy today,' he said, regaining his urgency. 'Jim, there is barely a member of the Vulcan government who has not been a student at the science academy, or a teacher at the science academy, or both, and they will all be at the meeting. It is imperative that the chamber be evacuated. I have reason to suspect that there may be some form of explosive planted there.'

'Spock – ' Kirk hesitated, then asked carefully, 'Spock can you give me any kind of explanation for this suspicion?'

He forced himself to control his impatience. His father would be in that meeting chamber, his mother, the house-guests he had come to know, and any number of Vulcan academics and ministers.

'Something suggested itself in regard to the human hostage takers, but I could not pin it down,' he said swiftly. 'Your talk about accents made me realise what it was. Our human captors were actually natives of Horner 5.'

'The V'Shar – ' Kirk began.

'Do not give me a great deal of credence,' Spock said tersely.

Centuries of logic, of tolerance, of mental discipline, continued to bypass the deep, ingrained prejudices of individuals on Vulcan. He had learned just how deep some of those prejudices were as he grew up, half Vulcan, half human – and he was fast growing to accept that the prejudices attached to the blind were just as immutable – especially amongst the ranks of the V'Shar.

He thought briefly, then felt swiftly in the bag he held, until his fingers brushed over the small cell-com. He dialled swiftly, and heard his mother's voice asking, 'Spock? Is that you?'

'Yes, mother,' Spock said concisely.

'Oh, then they let you out – ' she began, her voice suffused with relief.

'Mother, are you in the meeting chamber?' Spock asked, cutting across her excited words.

'No – I stepped out to answer – '

'Mother, do not question me,' Spock interrupted again. 'It is essential that the chamber be evacuated immediately. There may be an explosive device somewhere in that room.'

'I'll see to it,' his mother said, her voice suddenly as clipped and urgent as his.

The call cut off, and Spock turned to Kirk, saying in a low voice, 'I suspected that my mother would trust my judgement without question. Sarek would not.'

'Spock, will they listen to her?' Kirk asked seriously.

Spock pressed his lips together. 'I must trust that Sarek will listen to her. They will listen to Sarek.'

'But I still don't understand,' Kirk began. 'I trust you, Spock – completely – but I'm not familiar with Horner 5. What makes you believe there'll be an attempt to blow up the meeting chamber?'

'A hypothesis, Captain,' Spock said carefully. 'I prefer not to speculate without further information.'

'Are you going to wait till you see a bomb? It must be a little more than a hypothesis,' Kirk said impatiently. 'Come on, Spock. You at least know something more about Horner 5 than I do?'

'Perhaps,' Spock nodded. 'Horner 5 is a colony world just four light years from Vulcan, Captain. I had thought that a section of our abductors were human, from Earth – but, in retrospect, their accents suggested they are human, from Horner 5. There is a subtle difference. The vowels produced more toward the front of the oral cavity, the – '

'Yes, all right,' Kirk said quickly. 'But why should their homeworld – '

'Captain, there is a certain, rather ruthless, group of terrorists from that planet whose campaigns of violence almost always culminate in the bombing, without warning, of socially or politically important gatherings.'

'But – why would they want to bomb something like this, on Vulcan?' Kirk asked in wonderment.

'I am not certain,' Spock said, 'but suffice to say, the group's motivations are strong, and their means of carrying out their campaigns are usually – quite intricate, to say the least. They act for results, not notoriety. Captain, may I suggest that we travel to the Academy immediately?'

'Spock,' Christine cut in. She made a sound of consternation, then said more carefully, 'Mr Spock. You need to return to the _Enterprise_. Aside from the hypothermia, there's the effects you're suffering from the disruptor treatment. The risk of bleeding…'

'Effects?' Kirk asked, his curiosity suddenly sharpened. 'What effects from the disruptor treatment, Spock? I thought they were under control?'

'Mr Spock is – ' Chapel began.

'Permitted the same rights of medical confidentiality as any other member of the _Enterprise_ crew, I think,' Spock cut in sharply. He had no desire to discuss the probable outcome of his consultation with the healer until he had reconciled the diagnosis in his own mind.

'Nurse Chapel, would you recommend that Commander Spock be relieved from active duty, due to any medical condition that you cannot disclose?' Kirk asked, a certain hardness entering his tone.

'May I remind you that I am technically on leave, Captain?' Spock pointed out coldly. 'Now, I am going to enquire about transportation to the Academy,' he said, unfolding his cane and making for the door.

Kirk stood silent for a moment as Spock disappeared through the door, then looked at Nurse Chapel curiously.

'Well, what's eating him?' he asked in puzzlement. 'What is this about the disruptor treatment, Miss Chapel?'

She gazed helplessly at the door, and then back at Kirk. 'Captain, I'm sorry – I really can't give up any of Mr Spock's confidential medical details,' she said awkwardly. 'It's – his right to keep them private.'

'Miss Chapel…' Kirk stared at her face for a moment, his mind revolving over what he had seen and heard between her and Spock since his liberation from the mountain lodge. 'Miss Chapel, is there – something going on between you and Mr Spock?'

She met his eyes for a brief moment, her mouth working as if she wanted to speak but did not know what to say. Finally she shook her head, saying, 'I can't say, Captain. I'm sorry,' and she walked very quickly out of the room.

******

She found Spock standing at the reception in the building's foyer, waiting while the officer behind the desk spoke to someone on a comm system.

'Spock,' she said softly, coming up behind him, keeping her voice low enough to elude the ears of the Vulcans nearby. 'What did the Healer say?'

Spock stiffened, every muscle in his back tensing, one by one. He didn't turn around.

'That is quite irrelevant at this time,' he said without turning. 'I am currently arranging permission for a transportation to the Vulcan Science Academy.'

'*_Spock*_,' she said more insistently, touching a hand to his arm.

His rigidity only increased.

'Do not believe that any personal relationship between us will sway me from what I _*must_* do in regard to this situation,' he said tightly. 'It is possible that there will be an explosion at a venue currently occupied by both of my parents.'

'And you've warned your mother, and presumably she's told the police and left the building,' she reminded him, pushing away her hurt at his tone in deference to his obviously distracted state. 'What can you being there achieve?'

He exhaled a long breath, and then, finally, turned to face her. 'Healer T'Jiah administered vylashar, and prescribed rest,' he said in a softer tone. 'I will rest when it is possible to do so, and I will consult Dr McCoy as soon as I return to the _Enterprise_. Does that satisfy your concerns, Christine?'

'To an extent,' she nodded, certain that he had not told her everything about the consultation. 'Will you let me come with you to the Academy?'

'I do not flatter myself that I have the power of swaying you in your intent,' Spock said with a raised eyebrow. 'I don't imagine I will be able to prevent the captain from accompanying us, either,' he said, turning as the door opened with a soft swish.

'I don't imagine you will,' Kirk said as he approached. 'Do you have transport sorted yet?'

'The arrangement is in process,' Spock said, keeping his impatience firmly reined in as he listened to the drawn-out conversation being held by the V'Shar officer over the comm-link. 'I believe it will be settled soon.'

******

The transport, when it was finally settled, consisted of a inter-station transport to a V'Shar post near the academy, and then a shuttle-cab to the academy itself. Spock called his mother en route to warn her of their arrival, but had only been able to access her voice-mail. He was uncertain as to whether he would easily find his parents amid milling crowds consisting of every occupant of the academy, even with Kirk's and Christine's eyes to help him.

They stepped off the shuttle into the cooling evening air, and what seemed to be a wall of oddly muted hubbub – the fluidic sound of hundreds of disturbed Vulcans murmuring restrainedly about what had happened. The noise was so different to the chaotic babble that would ensue were the Vulcans replaced with humans.

Spock stepped forwards from the cab, cocking his head to listen, and extending his cane. Early on in his blindness he had been deeply disconcerted by blankets of noise such as this, but he had gradually learnt to use it to his advantage. The blanket was often, in fact, a patchwork. The patches of noise told him a great deal about what was happening around him, and the patches of silence told him an equal amount about those places filled with an obstacle where people could not walk. He still found the noise disconcerting, but he could, at least, turn it to his advantage.

'Spock,' a level, calm voice said almost instantly, as he turned toward the academy's main building.

'Sarek,' Spock nodded. His father had presumably been watching for his arrival. 'Is my mother – '

'I'm right here, Spock,' his mother replied, taking a step forward and touching his arm lightly. 'We're both fine. But Spock,' she said in a more earnest tone. 'You were right – they've found some sort of device in the debating chamber. An antimatter bomb, someone said.'

Spock exhaled, feeling an inordinate degree of satisfaction at that news.

'Then, I believe my hypothesis to be correct, Captain,' he said, turning to Kirk. 'I would say there was sufficient cause for impounding the Hornerian ship and questioning the crew.'

'Would you care to share, Commander?' Kirk asked with a degree of asperity. 'Or do you expect me to bring Starfleet force to bear on a vessel purely on your word?'

'Horner 5 was settled a little over eighty years ago by a group – one might say a sect – from the Norfolk area of the British Isles,' Spock began with perfect, patient composure. 'The planet is currently under Federation control, but they have been actively fighting for independence for over fifteen years. Today is the anniversary of their first bombing campaign. Each year since the formation of the HLF – the Horner Liberation Front – a group has carried out a terrorist campaign aimed at gaining independence, culminating in a bomb attack on the aforementioned anniversary.'

'But, Spock, there haven't been any hints that this campaign was anything but something cooked up between some humans and Vulcans here on this planet,' Kirk began. 'How can you be so sure?'

Spock shook his head. 'Too many factors coincide, Captain. I was not certain before, but the type of bomb confirms it. The HLF almost invariably use antimatter bombs, as they see the use of antimatter in propulsion as the mainstay of Federation power and control. They also tend not to use phaser-based weapons, but laser-based ones, evolved from a much more antiquated design originating from their first days as a colony. They specialise in carefully crafted terror campaigns that receive results, not publicity. They would not care if it were never discovered who carried out this violence. They would not care who or how many they killed. The humans of Horner 5 are notable xenophobes – they view the majority of humans as barely the same species.'

'And they're trying to effect a schism between Vulcan and the Federation because – ?' Kirk prompted him.

'Because they know that if Vulcan seceded from the Federation, they would be left in Vulcan space, and since Vulcan would not wish to govern a planet of illogical and violent humans, they would be left to govern themselves. If a large proportion of the Vulcan government, academy staff and dignitaries were killed by human violence, I imagine the campaign for Vulcan secession from the Federation would gather great momentum. I am almost certain that a great deal of evidence will have been left suggesting that this bomb was planted by human hands. Genetically human, at least,' he said pointedly.

'Genetically human, but from Horner 5,' Kirk nodded.

'And, Captain,' Spock continued. 'Almost every person on Horner 5 is descended from about one hundred original settlers. They do not breed with 'outsiders'. It should be possible to determine the DNA – ' he began, turning towards Christine.

'It would be a very simple matter,' she nodded. 'And if the original colony was set up along conventional means – conventional for eighty years ago – it's very likely that there is a record of the founders in the Starfleet database. Names, sex, professions – and genetic fingerprinting. It would be simple to prove descent.'

Kirk flipped his communicator open in an instant. 'Kirk to Scott,' he snapped, and without waiting for acknowledgement continued, 'Scotty, that ship from Horner 5. I want you to watch it – and if it shows any sign – even the tiniest hint – of leaving orbit, I want you to stop it.'

'Stop it, sir?' Scotty echoed in bemusement. 'On what grounds, Captain?'

'On suspicion of interplanetary terrorism,' Kirk said grimly. 'They may be behind all of this trouble on Vulcan. And if they are, I want them held to account.'

'Well, sir,' Scott said in a grim voice. 'We'll watch them all right – and if they try to leave, they'll find out what a four-hundred man starship can do to stop them.'

'And now, Spock,' Kirk said, closing his communicator. 'You have an appointment with Dr McCoy, don't you? And yes, I know technically you're on leave,' he said as Spock opened his mouth. 'But this bomb's been dealt with, I'll stay down here to pass on your suspicions to the V'Shar, Miss Chapel can try to get that genetic evidence and compare it with the original Horner 5 manifests. I don't see any – logic – in delaying any longer. Do you?'

Spock pressed his lips together, then shook his head.

'No, Captain,' he said. 'None at all. I will arrange a cab to the transport station.'


	14. Chapter 14

14.

It was a little over two hours later that Kirk beamed back to the _Enterprise_. He was dirty, his clothes gritted with sand and dust and his hair dishevelled, but, on his own orders, no word of what had happened on the surface of the planet had been passed on to the ship. There was no need – there was no immediate necessity for a Starfleet presence, and a sudden influx of humans did not seem politic considering recent events. He especially did not want to give Spock any further fuel for abandoning his consultation with McCoy and beaming back to the surface.

It had been half an hour after Spock had beamed up that the bomb, in the careful hands of two Vulcan bomb disposal experts and about to be beamed to a safe location in space, had abruptly exploded. There were very few casualties, since the area had been evacuated, and those who had been involved were either entirely beyond help, or had been beamed immediately to the best suited Vulcan hospitals. Jim had spent the last one and a half hours assisting at the Academy in the pure physical work of moving stone and brick in the search for any traces of evidence left behind after the catastrophic explosion.

Kirk had only beamed up due to the summons of a worried sounding Dr McCoy, otherwise he would have offered his services well into the night, documenting evidence and rescuing artefacts too fragile to be trusted to the blind grasp of a transporter beam.

The captain stepped down from the transporter initially pleased that the doctor appeared to be well after his exposure on the mountain, but it was obvious that something was wrong. McCoy didn't even seem to notice his friend's dishevelled appearance. He stood just at the base of the transporter steps, bouncing on his toes in unrepressed impatience, and turned toward the door almost as soon as Kirk began to move.

'Bones, what is it?' he asked in a low voice as they left the room. McCoy had been unusually reticent over the communicator.

'You sent Spock up for examination, didn't you?' he asked, glancing sideways at Kirk as they walked along the curving corridor towards the turbolift. 'I'm guessing you know a little bit about it?'

Kirk shook his head tersely. He wasn't used to being left in the dark, and he certainly didn't like it any better when the matter involved his closest friend.

'Spock was advised to see you by Nurse Chapel, and by a Vulcan doctor,' he said curiously. 'Spock wouldn't say a thing to me, and Nurse Chapel wouldn't spill – rightly so, I suppose…'

'Rightly so,' McCoy nodded with a small smile. 'I don't know – maybe I'm less moral than she is. Or maybe I know you're one of the few people who can get through to that thick-skulled Vulcan when he's in – well – in whatever Vulcans call it when all their emotional control breaks down and they give way to a torrent of anger.'

'Bones, what is it?' Kirk asked impatiently. 'What's wrong?'

'Jim, you know Spock was suffering some cell damage from that last round of treatment?' McCoy asked him gravely.

'I know,' Kirk nodded. 'I know it was bad enough to have a doctor come in to see him in V'Shar custody. Spock certainly seemed – tight lipped – after he got let out, but he was focussed on the bomb at the Academy...'

'Jim, I have to halt the treatment,' McCoy said succinctly.

'Halt?' Kirk echoed, stopping still in the corridor. 'Bones, why?'

McCoy shrugged, shaking his head tiredly.

'It's just too much for him. That last bout – it was a mistake, I guess. It was my mistake. Dammit, Spock had missed all those treatments, the cells were growing back…'

'Bones,' Kirk said insistently. 'What's it done to him? Is he all right?'

'He's all right, *_per se_*,' McCoy nodded. He took in a deep breath. 'It seems – that Spock's tissue has a saturation point as far at the disruptor effect is concerned. The exposure – those levels of cold and exhaustion – might have compromised his body's natural healing processes. It might be to do with his hybrid physiology. Perhaps his cells aren't quite as stable as they would be if they were pure Vulcan, or pure human. It's such a minute instability, on the molecular level. It makes almost no difference, in almost every facet of his life – except – '

'For the disruptor treatment,' Kirk finished grimly. 'Which works on a molecular level.'

The doctor nodded grimly.

'It's controlled now, Jim. We caught it early enough. But if we carry on he risks cerebral haemorrhage, brain damage, internal bleeding, organ damage. It's – just not safe. Now, it might be that we can perfect the process – or it might be that a period of rest will let his cells recover enough to try it again. But – for now, we have to stop.'

'And you've told him this, Bones?'

'Yes,' McCoy said succinctly. 'He – didn't take it well, to put it mildly.'

'Spock's a rational man,' Kirk pointed out, hoping in some way to alleviate the obvious guilt that the doctor was feeling, perhaps hoping to convince himself that Spock would be able to accept what would devastate any normal man. 'He's a scientist. He'll come to terms with it.'

'Jim, did you know that he had thoughts of suicide?' McCoy asked him in a low tone, taking care that their conversation reached no further than Kirk's ears. 'In the early days, before we discovered this treatment.'

'No, I didn't,' Kirk said in a shocked tone, a cold feeling seeping down through his body. 'Bones, Spock's all right, isn't he?' he asked quickly.

'He hasn't performed tal-shaya on himself, if that's what you're asking,' McCoy said with a grim smile. 'You've got to understand Vulcan society, Jim. You know how different – sometimes bizarre – they are, despite all their emotionless front. Suicide's not that uncommon, especially due to blindness. It's a ritual. It's often logical. In the past it was almost expected when a person was no longer a viable member of society. Vulcans internalise their problems, they turn them away from others. So it wasn't hugely surprising that the thought would cross Spock's mind. It was just fleeting thoughts in difficult times, as far as I could make out. It never went any further than that.'

'But still…' Kirk said slowly. 'But, Bones, he's seemed so – at ease with his blindness for a long time now.'

'Yes – since we began the treatment,' McCoy said meaningfully. 'Spock's been living on a hope for five months, Jim. I've just taken that raft of hope away. Now, it may be that I can offer up another hope to him – but right now he's just floundering in the water.'

'Bones, where is he?' Kirk asked quickly. It was obvious that there was more to the doctor's summons than just a relay of information.

'Lab 15,' McCoy said succinctly. 'He won't open the door to me. I thought you might be able to persuade him – or at least use your command codes to get it open. I don't want to have to call security down on him. I'm not concerned for his life, Jim – his readings are strong and vital, and I think he's well past those brief suicidal feelings he had early on. But – there were some mighty crashes from in there. You know what an angry Vulcan can do…'

Kirk pressed his lips together, and then nodded.

'All right, Bones,' he said, touching his arm briefly. 'I'll go check on him.'

McCoy nodded, then seemed to look at him anew, and asked suddenly, 'Jim, what in hell have you been doing down there on Vulcan?'

'Oh – ' Kirk said, looking at the streaks of red dust that blazed against the gold of his uniform top. He had momentarily forgotten about the carnage on the planet's surface. 'Did Spock tell you about the bomb?'

'He said they'd found one at the academy, but – ' McCoy's face suddenly took on an expression of more immediate anxiety. 'Jim, are Spock's parents all right? And Christine? It went off?'

'It went off,' Kirk nodded. 'Everyone's all right, Bones. There's maybe – ten or so dead, they think. The rest are minor injuries.'

'Antimatter'll get you like that,' McCoy muttered. 'You're either dead or you're not.'

'Yeah,' Kirk nodded. He had already decided not to mention that Christine had been amongst the minor injuries. She was receiving good care, and had Spock's mother watching over her, and he wanted McCoy here, in case Spock needed him. 'Bones, Spock – I should go find him.'

'Go,' McCoy nodded. 'I'll be in the sickbay, Jim. As soon as you've prised him out of there, send him along to me, will you?'

'I'll do what I can,' Kirk said evasively. With some problems it was best, he was sure, that the Vulcan _*didn't_* go to sickbay. Often a long evening talking with Spock ironed out more problems than a more professional consultation could ever do, for both of them.

He went swiftly to the turbolift and ordered to Deck 7. When he got to Lab 15 he found Sacha standing outside the room, whining piteously and scratching at the base of the door. It was obvious that the door was locked, and the fact that the dog had been left outside was worrying in itself. Spock and Sacha seemed almost to be one entity at times on the ship.

'Computer, override lock,' Kirk snapped, taking hold of the dog's harness and instinctively stroking her thick fur to try to calm her down. 'Authorisation: Kirk, SC-937-0176-CEC.'

He did not imagine that much would come from just asking Spock to open the door, but he had to hope that the access code at least would work. It was an indication of Spock's distraction that the door slid open instantly. It would have been child's play to him to set a lock on the door that could not be overridden.

The scene that hit Kirk's eyes was reminiscent of the leftovers of a hurricane. Lab 15 was a small laboratory, with not much more room than one researcher would need – but the amount of breakables Spock had managed to discover in the place astounded him. The floor was scattered with broken glass, shelves on the walls littered with tumbled bottles. But a hurricane would never have punched fist-sized holes in the cupboard doors, or crushed the computer console to a concertinaed shell. In the middle of all this, Spock sat, slumped in a chair, his head resting on the desk before him with his arms folded about it, breathing with deep, very obviously controlled breaths.

All that, Kirk took in in a second. A moment later, his eyes were scanning the scene for green blood. There was some – small smears of it on the back of the chair, and on the desk surface – but nothing indicating a dangerous drain of life-blood. Spock would need first aid, though, and a certain amount of personal attention. He sighed. He seemed to be ricocheting from crisis to crisis today. So far, it had been a _*very_* long day.

He renewed his grip on Sacha's harness, trying to pull her away from the door – but the strength of the alsatian was more than he could fight against, and she would not listen to his commands.

'Spock,' he snapped. He could see that the Vulcan had stiffened a little in the awareness of his presence. 'If you care about this dog, tell her to stay outside. She'll cut her feet to ribbons.'

Spock sat up abruptly, turning around in the chair. His face was perfectly, almost chillingly, composed, but his eyes seemed to glitter with repressed emotion.

'Sacha,' he said in a hollow voice. 'Stay.'

The dog looked at him quizzically, but she sat down, and did not attempt to come into the room.

'I am all right,' Spock said in a voice with a little more warmth in it. Kirk couldn't be sure if he was speaking to the dog or to him.

'All right, Spock,' Kirk said softly.

Glass crunched underfoot as he walked across the room to the Vulcan. Glancing back, he saw that Sacha was remaining absolutely still. He looked back to where Spock sat. Even in this carnage, the Vulcan's astounding control was evident in the fact that the most delicate, most expensive instruments had been carefully put aside under the desk before the meticulous destruction of the room had begun.

'We're going to talk about this,' he continued to Spock. 'But first, you're getting out of this room. There's a meeting room just down the corridor.'

Spock stood without argument, and held out a hand to the captain. Kirk drew in breath as he saw the cuts and bruising that covered the back of his hands, and his fingers and wrists. Each knuckle, without exception, was bruised and bloodied from sheer impact with hard surfaces.

'Come on,' he said softly, taking hold of Spock's arm above his elbow. It didn't seem possible that Spock could hold onto his arm without causing himself severe pain.

'You will, of course, take the cost of the damage from my salary,' Spock said, in an oddly normal voice.

'Oh, there's plenty of allowance in an active starship's budget for accidental damage,' Kirk shrugged. 'I'm not going to put this down in the records.'

'Captain – ' Spock began to protest.

'Spock, do you really want to be held up on charges of wilful vandalism?' Jim asked him seriously.

Spock exhaled, and shook his head. 'No, I do not,' he admitted. 'Sacha,' he said as they passed through the door. 'Walk to heel.'

'Computer, lock that door,' Kirk said as the door closed. 'I'll get some discreet maintenance done later,' he said to Spock in a low tone, leading him down the corridor.

Ordinarily, Spock would not have needed guidance in these corridors, but this time he looked quite incapable of concentrating enough to walk alone. Kirk took a first aid kit from a covered niche in the wall at the first opportunity, and then, a few yards further down the corridor, he turned into one of the _Enterprise_'s meeting rooms. It was a small, private space, furnished with four easy chairs, a low table, and a replicator capable of producing drinks and small snacks.

'Come on, sit down,' Jim said, taking Spock to a chair. 'Are you all right?'

Spock raised his head, a very subtle look of humour flitting over his features.

'I experienced some anger,' he said in a level voice.

'You can say that again,' Kirk smiled. 'Remind me not to disturb you when you're feeling like that, won't you? Did it help?' he asked carefully.

Spock raised an eyebrow, a look of surprised realisation passing briefly over his face.

'Yes. To a certain extent, I would say that it did.'

Kirk nodded, regarding the Vulcan's face. There was every sign that Spock had spent the worst of his unmanageable anger in the violent outburst, and had perhaps been left calmer than he would have been had he tried to deal with his emotion with logic or rationalisation.

'I assume it was Dr McCoy who alerted you to my – difficulty,' Spock said awkwardly, dropping his head again.

'It was,' Kirk nodded. 'He told me about the problems with the disruptor treatment.'

'Yes,' Spock said briefly, looking very much as though he did not want to talk about it.

'Let me look at your hands,' Kirk asked him, opening the first aid kit. He knew there was little point in reminding Spock that he was more susceptible to bleeding at the moment. That was at the base of this whole issue.

'Must you call Dr McCoy?' Spock asked, lifting his hands to Kirk's view. The pain in them was obvious, but beyond that it was impossible to tell exactly what the injuries were without being able to see them.

'Oh, I don't think so,' Jim smiled, looking carefully at the hands without touching them. 'Cuts, bruising, grazes. You haven't got any severe bleeding. We should let him scan for any glass in there, but I think you're okay for now – okay being a relative term. At least you weren't in a room storing dangerous chemicals.'

'Yes. Some logic did prevail when I choose the room,' Spock nodded. He seemed to be growing closer to normal with each passing minute.

He winced minutely as Kirk lifted his right hand and began to swab blood from his skin.

'I may, perhaps, have broken some minor bones,' he admitted.

Kirk froze, lowering Spock's hand gently to the table.

'Good God, Spock. When you're angry, you do it properly, don't you?'

'Dr McCoy's news was – a disappointment,' Spock said simply.

'Do you want to talk about it?' Kirk asked cautiously. 'It might help.'

Spock sighed, suddenly looking exhausted again.

'I am – tired to death of blindness,' he said heavily. 'I live with it, because I _*must_* live with it. But – I am not sure how I can continue to do so without hope…'

The captain realised his mistake as the Vulcan seemed to deflate. Perhaps talking about it was not the answer. Spock had very definitely externalised his reaction to McCoy's diagnosis, expunging the worst of his anger and frustration in physical violence, and now it was obviously time to tuck away the emotions and continue as best he could.

Jim laid a hand on Spock's arm, trying to impart reassurance through the physical contact. Spock straightened a little at Kirk's touch, turning more towards his friend. It was easy to forget just how disconnected Spock was from his surroundings by his blindness, especially in combination with his natural disinclination towards physical contact. The touch seemed to bring him further out of his isolated preoccupation.

'It's a set-back, Spock,' Kirk insisted. 'We're not going to give up on you getting your sight back. We're just going to look for other ways.'

'Yes,' Spock said in an unconvinced tone.

'There's an entire galaxy of medical innovation out there,' Kirk pressed. 'Believe me, Spock. I won't let this rest. McCoy won't let it rest. And I sure as hell know _*you_* won't let it rest.'

'No,' Spock said, then said more firmly, 'No. You are right, Jim. I just need some time to process the information, I think – and the attendant emotions.' He drew in a deep breath, reaching automatically to straighten out his top, and then thinking just before he touched of his injured hands. 'My behaviour has been reprehensible, Captain. I am sorry.'

'Oh, I think I understand,' Kirk said softly, taking Spock's left hand now and repeating the process of cleaning the blood from the cuts. He imagined that if he were in Spock's place the storm would not have passed quite so swiftly.

'You're going to have to come to sickbay soon, Spock,' he said firmly, examining a particularly bruised and bloodied knuckle on the Vulcan's left hand. 'It looks like you've got bleeding internal to your knuckles. I know your hands aren't the most vital organ, but – '

'It is quite necessary that my hands are useable,' Spock nodded. For a moment he seemed lost in thought as Kirk dabbed blood from his skin, then he tilted his head, and said curiously, 'Captain, your scent is – peculiar.'

'My scent?' Kirk asked, putting down one blood covered wipe and picking up a fresh one. No matter how many times he was confronted with Spock's blindness, it always took him a moment's thought to realise the things to which the Vulcan was oblivious. He had no idea of Kirk's dishevelled state.

'You smell, to be honest, as if you have been rolling in the Vulcan dirt,' Spock said apologetically. 'And your hands seem to have a fine layer of grit on them.'

'They were just about to beam the bomb out when it went off,' Kirk told him succinctly. There was little point in pulling his punches with Spock. 'Don't worry – your parents are fine,' he said quickly. 'They'd already gone home by then. There were around ten deaths, and some minor casualties. They'd moved the bomb outside, so there's not too much structural damage – it took out one wall, but that's it. And they've assured me that Nurse Chapel will be out of hospital by this evening.'

For a brief second Spock seemed to be electrified by that information. Then he caught himself, and asked calmly, 'What are her injuries, Captain?'

Kirk regarded him curiously. As compassionate as he felt towards Spock, he could not help but act on the intrigue he felt. He had not become a starship captain by always waiting for information to be volunteered to him. Sometimes you had to prise it out, by evasion, by feigned ignorance – by deceit.

'Don't worry about that for now, Spock,' he said carelessly, packing varied items back into the first aid kit and making a mental note to have it refilled. 'You need to come down to sickbay with me – let McCoy take a proper look at those hands. Anyway, I thought you might want to start working on refining that treatment?'

Spock reached out with an accuracy born from months of honing his auditory sense, and caught Kirk's wrist in his fingers, tightening his grip quite effectively despite the broken bones.

'What are her injuries, Captain?' he asked again, in a voice that was still perfectly calm despite the grip on Kirk's arm that must have been agony to his shattered fingers.

Kirk smiled, then suppressed the grin, knowing that Spock was well-tuned to the way different expressions distorted one's voice. It was a positive sign that Spock immediately pushed aside his depression at his own medical problems in the face of the problems of those close to him – and an intriguing sign that those people obviously included Nurse Chapel, after all these years of what almost amounted to a romantic cold war.

'Let go, Spock,' he said softly, putting his hand over Spock's until the Vulcan registered his conciliatory tone, and loosened his grip. 'Miss Chapel is fine,' he said. 'She was in the debating chamber getting that DNA evidence. She was knocked out by the force of the blast – only for a minute or so. She's suffered some minor bruising, and a broken arm that's been knitted by the healers in the hospital. They're keeping her there for observation – nothing more. Your mother beamed over to be with her.'

'My – mother?' Spock echoed, with a momentary look of apprehension that Kirk recognised well. How many times had he been involved with a woman, and feared that first encounter between partner and parent more than a Klingon attack?

'Yes. She thought she might appreciate a human presence.'

'I – see,' Spock said, looking briefly confused. 'Captain, perhaps the nurse would better appreciate the presence of her shipmates…'

'I think McCoy would appreciate your presence in sickbay,' Kirk reminded him. 'I'm not authorising any beamdowns until these hands have been sorted.'

'Yes, of course,' Spock nodded, flexing his fingers experimentally against the stiffness of swelling. He seemed to draw a veil over the many emotional concerns in his mind, and raised his head with an expression that was much closer to the stoicism to which Kirk was accustomed. 'Captain, the sample the nurse was gathering. Was it preserved?' he asked.

'The sample has been beamed up to the labs here for full analysis,' he nodded. 'I haven't had a chance to check on their progress, but I think we can both guess what they'll find.'

'Guessing is not an established scientific method,' Spock said seriously.

'I've never been much for the establishment,' Kirk said with a smile. 'Come on. You need to report to sickbay. The sooner your hands are fixed the sooner you can get back on duty or back down to Vulcan or – '

'If the sample is proved to be from a native of Horner 5, I assume you will be contacting that ship, with a view to detaining its occupants?' Spock asked, skillfully ignoring the captain's suggestion.

'You assume correctly,' Kirk nodded.

'I imagine the V'Shar will also test the humans they have in custody,' Spock pointed out. 'It will be a simple matter to determine if they're from the same ship, if they used a transporter to beam down. Their details will still be in the transporter memory. I'll go to the bridge and ask Lieutenant Uhura to – '

'_*I'll_* speak to Lieutenant Uhura, and contact the labs,' Kirk said pointedly. 'And then I thought you wanted to beam down to Vulcan to – provide Miss Chapel with the presence of a shipmate.'

If Spock had been human, Kirk was sure he would have seen him blush. As it was he merely seemed confused for a brief moment, then lifted his head and said carefully, 'I think Miss Chapel will understand if I stay here. My duties would seem to require it.'

And that was it, Kirk knew – the first tacit acknowledgement he had had from Spock that he was involved in a relationship with Christine Chapel, the knowledge passed more through his tone of voice than through his words. He touched Spock's arm briefly.

'Are you all right to get to sickbay, Spock? Can you manage Sacha? If you are, I can get up to the bridge and start things moving.'

Spock nodded concisely. 'Sacha, here,' he said briefly, and the dog looked up at him with languid eyes, then got to her feet and moved quickly to his side.

Spock reached down for her harness, and took the handle with the tips of his fingers in a light, painful touch. Kirk looked at his face, assessing his expression. He seemed to have regained the appearance, at least, of calm equanimity, despite the evidence of his bloodied and bruised knuckles.

'Get those hands sorted, then meet me on the bridge,' he told him briskly. A return to duty seemed the best course of action to keep the Vulcan distracted from his personal concerns. 'And, Spock,' he said as the Vulcan turned towards sickbay. 'When we've got that ship's crew safely in our brig, I'd like you to beam down to Vulcan. I think Miss Chapel would appreciate the presence of a crewmate, and I don't know who else I can spare.'

Spock hesitated a moment, then inclined his head slightly in silent acknowledgement of his friend's understanding and acceptance of his relationship.

'I will be on the bridge in five minutes, Captain,' he said confidently, then turned again down the corridor, saying, 'Sacha, sickbay.'


	15. Chapter 15

15.

The lab report that Kirk held in his hands was conclusive. It stated categorically that the human DNA recovered by Nurse Chapel was peculiar to Horner 5, being connected to at least twenty of the planet's original settlers, and admixed by no extraplanetary influence.

'And you've crosschecked?' he asked of the slim, blue-clad laboratory technician who had handed him the report.

'Of course, sir,' she replied. 'It's definitely someone of that descent. I couldn't tell you where they were born, but I can tell you where their DNA originated. With a little more time it might even be possible to identify the individual, by extrapolating their ancestry and checking it against Hornerian records.'

'I very much doubt Horner 5 would allow you access to those records, Lieutenant,' Kirk said pointedly. 'It's enough, Miss Fernstall. It gives us reasonable suspicion, and that's all we need to apprehend a ship in Vulcan orbit. Isn't it, Lieutenant Uhura?' he asked questioningly, turning in his chair to the woman at the communications station.

'I've just received the go-ahead,' she nodded, taking her earpiece out of her ear. 'Vulcan Command are quite happy to let the _Enterprise_ seize the ship. They say its *_only logical*_, considering our size and firepower,' she said with a soft smile.

'Far be it from me to stand in the way of logic,' Kirk nodded. 'And what about those humans they have in custody, Lieutenant?'

The turbolift doors swished open, and Spock stepped onto the bridge with Sacha at his side, bearing very little sign of any emotional or physical instability beyond some light bandaging over his knuckles.

'The V'Shar have also passed on the DNA scans of the humans they have in custody,' Uhura continued, seeing that Spock was waiting for her to answer the captain. 'I've transmitted the details to the lab, and on first impressions they expect the same result as the sample Nurse Chapel gathered.'

'Very good,' Kirk nodded. He glanced up at Spock, with the tacit understanding between them that what had occurred in Lab 15 was in the past, and not to be mentioned. 'Commander Spock,' he said as the Vulcan moved towards his seat at the science station. 'Lieutenant Sulu has already assessed the firepower and shields of the Hornerian vessel, _Ventura Bell_. Tie into his information and calculate the best attack plan to disable the ship with minimum damage.'

'You are anticipating a conflict, Captain?' Spock asked as he sat, his fingers beginning to move over the console.

'Aren't you, Mr Spock?' Kirk asked archly. 'Do you think they'll respond to hails?'

Spock shook his head. 'Extremely doubtful. Nothing in the history of Horner 5 indicates a quiet capitulation in the face of defeat.' His attention was taken for a moment by the earpiece in his ear, and a readout under his right hand. 'I have the coordinates of the ship's centres of propulsion and weapons, Captain. I would advise targeting both. I would also advise monitoring their transporters. It is possible they will try to beam down.'

'Yes,' Kirk said slowly. 'I wish we could just open fire on that ship – I don't want to give them any chances. But – '

'They could be a simple cargo vessel,' Spock nodded, 'or innocent travellers, or any number of things unrelated to interplanetary terrorism. I very much doubt that they are any of those things, but we are compelled to act to a certain standard of decency. Unfortunately,' he added darkly.

'Yes,' Kirk nodded, his tone of voice echoing Spock's sentiment. 'Uhura, open hailing frequencies to that ship.'

Uhura turned her fingertips instantly to her console, entering the requisite input almost without having to look at the board.

'Hailing frequencies open, Captain,' she nodded.

'_Ventura Bell_,' Kirk said, raising his voice to an authoritative level. 'This is Captain Kirk of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. We have information indicating that you're connected with – '

'The ship's moving away, Captain,' Sulu cut in, unnecessarily since the slow inertial thrust was quite obvious on the main screen.

'And powering aft weapons, Jim,' Spock snapped with more urgency. 'Extremely powerful laser-type – '

'Raise shields,' Kirk snapped over him, simultaneously hitting the button on the arm of his chair that opened a channel throughout the ship, overriding any other communications. 'All decks brace for impact. Sulu, target phasers as per Spock's calculations.'

Spock planted his feet firmly on the floor and nudged Sacha further under the console, but his fingers kept moving over his console, both inputting and reading data. He could not see the bright surge of energy moving towards the ship, but his earpiece smoothly counted off blips, the sound growing in pitch and frequency as the impact grew closer. As the blipping reached a continuous, almost painfully high scream he braced his hands against the console, and the ship rocked violently.

Simultaneously the _Enterprise_'s own weapons were letting loose their fury, the satisfying sound of the release of two photon torpedoes blending with the continuous stream of phaser fire.

'Damage reports,' Kirk snapped from the centre of the bridge.

'Slight damage to decks three and four,' Uhura replied instantly. 'Some minor injuries.'

'Shields still at ninety-seven percent,' Spock added, listening intently to multiple audio streams. 'Hornerian ship has – taken severe damage. Their port engine is no longer functional. Starboard engine shows damage.'

'And their weapons?' Kirk asked urgently, swinging round in his chair.

'Functional,' Spock said tightly. 'They cannot run, but they can fight. And are powering weapons again!' he snapped as he read another sharp build-up of energy.

'Sulu, evasive,' Kirk snapped. 'Fire at will.'

The ship shuddered again as it was hit, the impact resounding through the hull like thunder. Then Sulu found his target and the _Enterprise_'s phasers fired again, unleashing focussed, deadly power directly at the weapons centre of the enemy vessel.

'Direct hit to the Hornerian vessel,' Spock relayed, listening again to his earpiece. 'Their weapons are down, Captain. Shields down also. If necessary we can beam aboard and – '

The explosion that followed was of a brilliance that reached even Spock's eyes, and he blinked at the sudden flash, turning his face away from the direction of the viewscreen. Ignoring the emotional overtones of what must have happened, he turned his attention to the readings of his instruments.

'They overloaded their warp engine, Captain,' he said, his hands still taking in streams of information as it flashed across his boards. 'It was a deliberate action. There are no survivors.'

'And that, as they say, is that,' Kirk said quietly from the centre chair. The entire bridge had momentarily fallen silent. 'Thank you, Mr Spock,' he said as an afterthought. 'I think you've done all you can here. If you want to beam down to Vulcan now, you're quite welcome.'

'Captain,' Spock said softly, hearing the brittle undertone in Kirk's voice. He got to his feet and moved down towards Kirk's chair without either Sacha or his cane. It was easy enough for him to suppress the emotional reaction to the deaths of fifteen humans, but it was less so for Kirk, regardless of those people's moral make-up.

'Captain,' he repeated as he reached Kirk's side, touching a hand lightly to his arm. 'There was nothing further that could have been done. Self-destruction was _*their_* decision, not yours.'

'There's always _*something_* that could have been done, Spock,' Kirk murmured.

Spock thought momentarily of the shield of dark cells covering his pupils, and of his life before the explosion in the phaser control room, and his life since.

'No,' he said quietly, shaking his head. 'It is quite irrelevant now. It is illogical to dwell on what could have been, instead of reacting to what _*has_* been.'

The chair moved minutely, and he could feel Kirk looking up at him. He was certain that he was smiling the regretful smile he reserved for such occasions. He was struck with a momentary wish to see his friend's eyes. He missed seeing the expressions in people's eyes.

'Go see Miss Chapel,' Jim said, so low that none but Spock could hear him. 'I'll mind the store up here. It's just a case of tying up loose ends now.'

Spock hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded briefly, and returned to his console to collect his cane and his guide dog. Sacha came to his side and touched her nose to his hand, remarkably unmoved by the recent shaking and thunderous noise of weapons fire. He stroked her head, murmuring praise, and took hold of her harness.

'Lieutenant Uhura,' Spock said as he reached the communications console. 'Please call down to Vulcan and acquire clearance for my beam-down from this ship to the ShiKahr Hospital.'

'Of course, sir,' she said instantly.

Spock nodded sparsely, ignoring the curiosity in her voice. He could feel her fondling the dog's ears with one hand even as she opened a channel with the other.

'Lieutenant, Sacha is working,' he said patiently. He could not persuade her to drop the habit of fussing the dog at every opportunity.

'I know, sir, I'm sorry,' she said with the warm tone of a smile, then turned quickly to her board as her call connected.

'I'll be in the transporter room,' Spock told her. 'Send the response down there, Lieutenant.'

******

Spock beamed into what he guessed was a relatively large room, imbued with the focussed hush that seemed to characterise most Vulcan public buildings despite the feeling of size and openness around him. The air was warm, and scented as a human hospital would be with mingling odours of antiseptic and medicine and many different bodies.

'Sacha, forward,' he murmured to the dog at his side, aware that the transporter was likely to be busy. It seemed that there were multiple pads, and there was an almost constant hum of transporter activity, while swift, silent people moved past him at regular intervals.

Bringing the guide dog with him seemed the right decision as he stepped into the unfamiliar space. He had relied on the fact that most Vulcan hospitals were kept a few degrees cooler than the prevailing temperature outside, and so would be bearable to the thick-furred animal. That seemed to be the case here, and although Sacha was panting, she did not seem excessively troubled by the heat.

The dog sniffed the air suspiciously, and then led him to the edge of the transporter.

'Sir,' a female voice said swiftly as he moved carefully down shallow steps. 'We do not encourage animals in the hospital.'

Spock turned towards the woman with a raised eyebrow. She stood close to him, but he gained a sense from the noises surrounding her of a barrier of some kind between him and her. Presumably she was a transporter attendant, and she stood behind a desk or a console.

'This is not a pet,' he said flatly. 'This is my guide. She is quite clean.'

'Ah, you are blind,' the woman said with dawning understanding. Then she asked, 'May I assume you are Commander Spock?'

'Yes, I am,' Spock nodded. 'Were you anticipating my arrival?'

'We were told to expect you,' she nodded. 'You've come to visit the human patient – a crewmember from your ship.'

'Correct,' Spock nodded. It made things considerably easier that either Uhura or the Vulcan transportation authority had called through to announce his coming. 'Could you show me to her room?'

******

Sacha's claws clicked in a staccato rhythm on the hard floor as Spock's guide took him along the corridor to Christine's room. The woman left him just outside the door, and as Spock entered he could sense not one, but three distinct, familiar personalities in the small space. The first was that of Christine, but the other two were definitely his mother and his father. He raised an eyebrow minutely at the awkward situation that his presence might create, then dismissed his concerns, and walked forward into the room.

'Oh – Mr Spock,' Christine said, a trifle uncertainly, as he entered.

He felt his mother's surprise as she turned round, echoing, 'Spock! I didn't expect to see you here! And with Sacha too! She's beautiful, Spock.'

Spock pursed his lips as the inevitable happened, and his mother knelt beside him to fuss the dog. Often people petted the dog without even bothering to address him first. Sacha succumbed to his mother's attention with her usual willingness. Sarek, however, was less easily distracted from the reason for Spock's sudden appearance.

'Did you come here to find us, Spock?' he asked curiously. 'Are we needed?'

'No. I thought it necessary to check on Nurse Chapel's condition,' Spock said smoothly.

'Oh, I'm all right,' Christine said brightly, obviously smiling, but still beset with an uncertainty that made her tone a little _*too_* cheerful. 'It just seemed better to go to a hospital here, since the sickbay's in disarray from the redecoration. They're only keeping me for monitoring for a little while longer.'

'Is it always necessary for the First Officer of the ship to check on the condition of sundry crewmembers?' Sarek asked curiously.

Spock hesitated, then said carefully, 'It was necessary for _*me_* to check on the condition of _*this_* particular crewmember.'

'Ahh,' Sarek said after a long pause. Spock imagined that his father was scrutinising his face for any signs of emotion. 'I see.'

'Amanda and Ambassador Sarek very kindly came to check on how I was,' Christine said quickly, filling the awkward silence.

'Well, since Christine was so good to us during that time en route to Babel,' Amanda said with equal alacrity, standing up and stepping away from the dog.

The atmosphere in the room was thick with unspoken thoughts. It was quite obvious to Spock that both his parents had suddenly become aware to some level of the situation the existed between him and Nurse Chapel, but neither of them wanted to be the first to mention it. He tightened his grip momentarily on Sacha's harness, then said bravely;

'Mother, Father, you are obviously curious as to why I would take it upon myself to visit a single member of the _Enterprise_ crew in hospital. I see no reason to equivocate. Miss Chapel and I have entered into the early stages of a relationship. I am visiting because of personal concern for her well-being, not a professional one.'

The silence in the room lasted for four interminably long seconds. Sarek was the one who chose to break it.

'Is such a relationship wise, Spock?' he asked in a voice which, although level, held a great degree of disapproval.

'No more nor less wise than *_your*_ relationship with my mother, Sarek,' Spock pointed out meaningfully.

'In the context of your disability,' Sarek clarified, choosing to ignore Spock's statement. 'It may be easier to succumb to – '

Spock stiffened, an old anger and frustration spiking in his chest. Sarek had, for want of a better term, picked on him all his life because of the weaknesses inherent in his human biology. Now he seemed to be picking on him because of his blindness. Perhaps it was just his father's clumsy way of being protective, but he did not appreciate either his intention or his method.

'I have succumbed to nothing,' he said in a brittle tone. 'I am in control of my own decisions.'

'Perhaps,' Sarek said in a soft voice to which Spock was well accustomed. 'But I hear you have spent a considerable amount of time recently with T'Pring. The presence of a former bondmate would awake certain erotic impulses in you,' he said bluntly. 'Perhaps a reaction – '

Spock turned his head sharply towards his father, at the same moment that Amanda said in a scandalised tone, '_*Sarek!_*' Thirty years ago Spock's resolution of the problem would have been to run from the room and find a secluded place to retain control of his emotions. Thankfully now he had the discipline to deal with his feelings towards his father in a few scant seconds.

There was a brief moment of silence, then Sarek said, 'The truth should not provoke emotion, Amanda. It is unarguable.'

'In this case it is also irrelevant,' Spock said flatly.

He could sense the uncertainty radiating from Christine. He was grateful for her wisdom in remaining silent.

'Do you intend a bonding?' Sarek asked after another loaded silence.

'_*Sarek!_*' Amanda said in an even more shocked tone.

'As yet, my intentions are between myself and Miss Chapel,' Spock said diplomatically.

'As they should be, Spock,' his mother said warmly. She stepped closer to him, and, before he could protest, kissed him swiftly on the cheek, pressing a discreet but reassuring hand to his back as she did. 'I've just spent a good deal of time with this young lady, Spock. I like her – a lot. I'm very happy for you.'

'Thank you, mother,' Spock nodded, keeping his face carefully controlled.

'Now – we were just about to go,' Amanda continued. 'Sarek?'

That single word held roughly the same meaning as when Sarek said, _*My wife, attend_*. Sarek had no more chance of disobeying that tone than Amanda did him when he addressed her with the formal phrase. After a brief, heavy silence, Sarek moved across the room and joined his wife at the door.

'Spock, call me,' Amanda said with gentle firmness. 'Let me know when to expect you back at our house.'

'I will,' Spock nodded.

He turned back to Christine as his parents left. Sarek made no unnecessary parting salutations.

After a moment of silence Christine said, 'I'm sorry about how your father feels, Spock. I'd hoped he might be more – accommodating.'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'My father has never been accommodating,' he said dryly. 'But don't concern yourself with his reaction. My mother will talk to him. Whether she will alter his opinion, I do not know, but she _*will_* talk to him – of that I do not doubt.'

'It's always difficult having an encounter with your parents in a relationship a few days old,' she mused.

'Have you had many such encounters?' Spock asked with interest.

'Humans are not as restrained as Vulcans,' she reminded him. 'I've had my share of relationships. I've even been engaged, remember.'

'Yes,' Spock nodded, remembering that look of crushed sorrow on her face as he ran into the ice caverns of Exo 3 after the android Korby had been annihilated. He had been bewildered by that grief, uncertain of how to deal with it, and faintly relieved that Kirk, with all of his experience with human females, was there to comfort her.

'As have I,' he added dryly, thinking of T'Pring.

The difference had been that Christine had loved Roger Korby. Spock had never loved T'Pring. He had barely spared a thought for her between leaving Vulcan and the onset of pon farr. He found himself briefly jealous of the all-sacrificing love Christine had held for Korby, that had led her even to join Starfleet in her attempt to find him after his disappearance.

Perhaps that was the great danger in this relationship – perhaps it was what had held him back for so long despite his attraction to her. Christine's nature, ultimately, led her to self-denying sacrifice for the one she loved, whether or not that love was reciprocated. For years she had received no more love from Korby, trapped on a glacial planet, than Spock had deigned give to her during her infatuation with him – and yet she had still loved. She had loved Korby in his absence, and Spock in his icy denial of her love. What would happen if he disappointed her in that love?

No. She had recovered from the loss of Korby, admirably well, he reminded himself. She had continued in her duties without complaint, despite the offer of compassionate leave, performing, if anything, better than usual. A large part of his admiration for her stemmed from her cool, rational self-sufficiency. She was capable of loving completely without losing herself. And anyway, he had no intention of disappointing her.

'My father will either accept this relationship, or he will not,' he said, bringing himself back from his rumination. 'If he does not – I am well used to defying his wishes.'

After a moment of silence he shook himself, and said, 'You must wish to know what happened in regard to the Hornerian vessel, Christine.'

'Oh, of course!' she said, sounding glad of the change of subject. 'What _*did_* happen?'

'The ship was destroyed,' he said without preamble. 'The evidence you recovered from the Academy served to implicate them – and I would say that they sealed impressions of their guilt by their utilisation of self-destruct.'

'They committed suicide?' Chapel asked in horror. 'The entire ship?'

Spock nodded. 'Fifteen human beings. I believe the V'Shar still have their suspects safe in custody, but we will gain nothing from the crew of the _Ventura Bell_.'

'Then – is it over, do you think?' she asked tentatively.

Spock gave a small shrug. 'It is impossible to be certain – but I believe that as soon as Horner 5's part in these acts of terrorism are made public – or at least made known to the Vulcan government – then their aims will essentially be nullified. If their intention was to deceive Vulcan into leaving the Federation, it will not work.'

'That's one good thing, then,' she murmured. 'Spock, there's a chair just here by the bed,' she continued in a lighter tone. 'Why don't you sit down?'

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'Sacha, chair,' he told the dog, and followed her pull until she stopped at the chair.

'She's an astonishingly intelligent dog,' Christine said appreciatively as he sat. 'I haven't had much of a chance to see her working.'

'She is a product of selective breeding and extensive training,' Spock pointed out. 'But – she is still a dog,' he said, as the animal exhaled warm, moist breath over his hand, and then rested her head heavily on his knee. He touched a hand to her head, stroking the short, thick fur. 'Our positions are usually reversed, Christine,' he said, turning his face to her. 'It's unusual that it is not I in the hospital bed, with you in attendance.'

'I've never liked being a patient,' she said grimly, moving uncomfortably to reach a glass of water.

'You're in pain?' he asked, as she winced.

'Only a little,' she said. 'Centuries of medical development, and they still can't work out how to totally heal broken ribs.'

'It is difficult when the bones cannot be set,' Spock pointed out.

'Yes. Casts that inhibit breathing are always troublesome,' she said dryly.

'You could, I'm sure, ask for stronger painkillers.'

'I don't like addling my mind with strong painkillers.'

Spock raised an eyebrow in amusement. He could not count the times that Nurse Chapel had tried to persuade him to accept painkillers, and shown very little understanding of his desire not to have his mind muddled by their sedative effect.

'And your arm is broken?' he asked. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he was unwilling to do so when he did not know where bruises or breaks may be.

'My right arm, on the other side from you,' she nodded, reading the deeper question in his voice. 'It was. But that, at least, can be held rigid under the bone-knitter. It's sore, but it's feeling much better.'

Spock reached out tentatively, touching gentle fingers to her unhurt arm, feeling the slick fabric of a Vulcan hospital garment thinly covering her flesh. He traced his fingertips up toward her shoulder, then touched them cautiously to her jawbone.

'Is your face bruised?' he asked solicitously.

'No. I think I must have thrown my arms up to protect my face – I believe that's why the right one got broken.'

Spock moved his touch onto her face, feeling her smile in the crease of her cheek and the curve of her lips, and then stroking his fingertips briefly along her hairline.

'I'm glad you are all right,' he said quietly. 'I was concerned. But it was important for me to stay on the ship…'

'I understand,' she told him softly. 'You did exactly what you should have done. You did your duty. You wouldn't be the person I spent so long loving if you had done anything else.'

Spock remained silent, unsure of how to respond to such blatant emotionalism.

'But what happened to _*you_*?' she asked suddenly as she registered the light bandages across his knuckles. She reached her left hand up to take his, seeing the hints of bruising at the edge of the bandage. 'You were all right when you beamed up, weren't you?'

Spock dropped his head a little. He had no wish to think about that brief loss of control, let alone talk about it, even with Christine.

'Dr McCoy assessed my condition when I beamed up to the ship, as requested,' he said quietly. 'The treatment must be halted. It is too damaging to my cell structure.'

'Oh, Spock,' she said, sitting up in bed despite her injuries. It was easy enough for her to extrapolate what had happened after McCoy's diagnosis. She was well aware that Vulcans had formidable tempers when pushed beyond their limits.

Spock turned his head sharply as she moved.

'I am all right,' he said in a falsely level voice. 'You should not be sitting up. There is no logic to – '

'*_Spock*_,' she said softly.

'I must accept that my life will be one without sight,' he continued. 'It has been for almost eight months. It should not be too difficult to reconcile myself – '

'Spock,' she repeated, putting both arms, broken and well, about his shoulders and enclosing him in a hug. 'Just because one door closes, it doesn't mean another one won't open. We'll do it, I promise you. We'll find some way.'

'You cannot promise such a thing,' Spock said flatly, but he accepted her embrace, touching his own hands to her back and taking comfort in her warm solidity, and the beating of her heart beneath her ribs, and the warmth of her breath on his neck. He let his head rest against hers in silence, until he felt able to control the morose feelings that were snaking in his mind and replace them with staunch logic. He could do nothing but endure his blindness day to day, and so he _*would_* endure it. Meanwhile, he would do all he could to research methods of altering his condition, and have confidence in the fact that those who cared about him would do the same. That was the only logical way to proceed.

'Christine, do you believe your attending Healer would allow you to leave the hospital, provided you were released into my care?' he asked, straightening away from her embrace and finding her hand again with his.

There was a pause as she began to twist her body around, and then stopped with a small gasp of pain. He surmised she had been trying to look at the readouts on the monitor that would by convention be placed above the bed head.

'Oh, I can't look,' she said, with traces of laughter in her voice. 'I can't turn round. Can – '

He sensed her momentary impulse to ask him to look, quickly cut off almost before she voiced it.

'Never mind,' she said quickly. 'I can make it out in the reflection on the window.'

She was silent for a few moments as she concentrated on deciphering readouts that were both Vulcan and mirrored.

'I don't see why not,' she said finally. 'The safety period for concussion's almost up. There's no danger of a punctured lung from the ribs, and the arm's healing well.'

Spock nodded, inwardly amused at her mode of describing herself as if she were just another patient.

'Then let's beam back to the ship,' he said quietly. 'I trust the problem of the terrorism here is all but over, and the captain and the Vulcan authorities have the matter in hand. There is no need for me to be on duty, and no need for you to be confined to a Vulcan hospital. Perhaps you could show me your quarters? I don't believe I've ever been inside them.'


	16. Chapter 16

16.

Christine's quarters were a maze of intrigue for Spock. He deliberately refrained from asking for any descriptions, preferring first make his own impressions of the place. As he stepped through the door and it closed behind him he stood, inhaling lightly, taking in the scent around him. Christine was evidently not a person to favour overwhelming scents or air fresheners – although he already knew that from his knowledge of her. Her quarters smelt faintly of a number of regulation cleaning fluids, a light scent of makeup and perfumes from the bureau, and the leaves and damp soil of many varied plants.

'You are fond of horticulture,' he said, bending to release Sacha from her harness. 'As is my mother. You would enjoy her garden.'

'I hope to see it,' Christine said, touching his arm momentarily as he stepped forward, and then dropping her hand again. 'You don't need help. I'm sorry…'

'There is no need,' Spock said briefly. 'You cannot make mistakes, Christine. You have not spent a great deal of time interacting with me in my blindness. You will learn my abilities and disabilities.'

He took another step forward, smelling the scents of plants both to his left and his right, and then coming upon what seemed to be a high-backed chair, covered in velvet.

'Non-regulation,' he murmured, discerning that it was some kind of antique-style wing-back.

'From my parents' house back home. I've always had it with me,' she explained.

'And home is?' he asked curiously. 'Earth, if I remember the crew dossiers rightly.'

'New England, North America,' she told him, wondering if he took the trouble to read _*all_* the crew's dossiers, or if hers had held a special interest for him.

'My mother's family is from Boston,' Spock commented as he moved around the chair.

'There's a table there!' she said, stepping forward just as his shins knocked into something low down, and then wincing as her ribs reminded her not to move too quickly.

Spock turned at her noise of pain. 'Christine, there is a vacant chair here. I suggest you make use of it,' he said firmly. 'If necessary, I can make that an order.'

'Oh, don't worry – I think my ribs are ordering me,' she said with a smile, moving past him.

It was evident by her movements that was not going to sit in the wing-back Spock had found, but on a seat at right angles to it.

'I've got a small settee,' she said at Spock's questioning look. 'It's more comfortable – and a little more friendly.'

'Can furniture display the emotion of friendship?' Spock asked doubtfully.

'I meant, Mr Spock, it's a seat for two, and I would like for you to join me,' she said tartly.

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'And are there any more coffee tables in my path?' he asked.

'Just that one,' she reassured him. 'And you've already been introduced. Here, come to your right a little, and you'll get past it.'

Spock moved forward, and she touched his hand as he came towards her, guiding him down to the seat. He sat and gave her a hint of a smile, reaching out to touch his fingers to her cheek. She moved sideways a little and rested her head onto his shoulder, content to sit in silence as he gently and continually stroked his fingertips over her face and hair.

'Do you think your parents will accept this?' she asked eventually, in a quiet, half-sleepy voice. The Healer had released her from the hospital only on condition that she take painkillers to control the pain of her ribs, and the drugs were evidently beginning to take effect.

'My mother already has,' Spock reminded her, not pausing in his stroking. It was pleasing to have such license to touch another person, when he was denied the sight of them, especially tracing his fingers on her face, with the attendant sparking mental contact that the touch provoked. 'I've no doubt that if we chose to become bonded tomorrow she would be quite content – as she would if were merely continued on our present course.'

'And your father?' she murmured.

Spock hesitated. It was easier, with distance, to assess Sarek's reaction more dispassionately.

'I believe Sarek is genuinely concerned for my welfare, even if that concern manifests itself somewhat oddly. He finds my blindness difficult to come to terms with. But once he is convinced of the benefit of your presence to my well-being I'm sure he will accept the relationship,' he said with more confidence than he felt. 'And what about your parents, Christine? What would their opinion be of your relationship with a member of another species?'

'_*Half_* of another species,' she reminded him. 'And my parents aren't just a few hundred miles away by transporter. To be honest, I think they'll just be glad I've found someone since Roger. They never seemed to like Roger very much. Said he was – what was it? Too driven, or something. Ruled by ambition. Head full of science and nothing else.'

She laughed suddenly, and Spock turned towards her. There had been an odd, almost hysterical pitch to her laugh.

'Christine, are you quite all right?'

'Oh, I was just thinking. I've upgraded, haven't I? If Roger was too scientific for them… No, I'm sorry,' she said, sobering a little at the concerned expression on his face. 'It's these painkillers. They warned me they might make me a little inebriated when they kicked in. Best thing's to sleep through it.'

'I will help you to your bed,' Spock said quickly, sliding his hands under her arms and helping her to her feet. 'Are you capable of walking?'

'Oh, yes,' she said loosely. 'I mean, to be honest, I don't think you could carry me – in a strange room and all. You'd crack my head on something…'

'Very possibly,' Spock said. In a way it was refreshing that she had lost her inhibitions due to the medication and could refer to the drawbacks of his blindness so bluntly. 'Tell me where to go.'

'Oh, it's – just over here,' she murmured, forcing herself to pull together enough control to walk with Spock's strong hands supporting her. 'Don't worry about me,' she said as she moved. 'They warned me. It's just going to make me sleep a little. I just feel a little drunk, that's all.'

'All right, Christine,' Spock said patiently, unsure of whether to be concerned or amused by her predicament. 'This is the bed?' he asked as she stopped walking.

'Yeah, just here,' she said, letting herself collapse onto the mattress then exclaiming, 'Goddamn sonofabitch! Damn that hurts!'

Spock raised an eyebrow at the curses that were so unlike her. 'Christine, are you all right?' he asked her.

'Just these damn ribs,' she murmured. 'But – tell you what – those painkillers do what they say on the tin. S'fading off beautifully.'

'I am glad,' Spock nodded, bending to carefully remove her boots. He pulled the blanket over her as she settled back in her sleepy state.

'Don't you take advantage of me now,' she murmured.

Spock raised an eyebrow. 'I am hardly likely to do that,' he assured her. 'Christine, I will stay until you fall asleep,' he said clearly. 'But then I ought to go to see my parents. I have a lot to explain to them.'

'Yeah, you do that, honey,' she slurred, sounding almost asleep. 'You be sure to give my love, won't you?'

'Of course, Christine,' Spock said patiently. 'I will inform Dr McCoy of your condition. He may come to check on you.'

'Oh, Len,' she murmured. 'What a – Hasn't he got that horse for – ?'

'You are dreaming,' Spock said, touching a hand to her face, and brushing his fingers lightly across it to find that her eyes were closed. He let his fingers rest on her psi points for a brief second, assuring himself that she really had fallen asleep, then called Sacha to him, and left the room.

******

'Spock!'

Spock turned as Kirk hailed him in the corridor, and waited for his friend to approach. He had just finished speaking to McCoy through the corridor intercom, and what had been a short message to tell him of Nurse Chapel's condition had become a convoluted process as McCoy tried to elicit from Spock exactly *_why*_ he had been in the nurse's quarters in the first place. Spock had said nothing to directly suggest a relationship between him and Christine, but since McCoy's parting comment was a delighted, 'Spock, you old dog! Don't worry – I'll come and take care of her,' he assumed that the good doctor had drawn his own conclusions.

'Must Dr McCoy always be so exuberant?' Spock complained as Kirk reached him.

'Exuberant?' Kirk asked, puzzled. Then, registering just how close Spock was to nurses' quarters he said knowingly, 'Ahh. You've been talking to him about his head nurse, haven't you? Really, you brought it on yourself, Spock. Bones has been waiting for this for years. I told him you never would, but you proved me wrong, and I have to say I'm glad.'

'Never would what, Captain?' Spock asked innocently. 'I simply contacted the doctor to tell him that Nurse Chapel has been released from hospital, but is suffering some small reaction to the prescribed painkillers. Nothing more.'

'Mr Spock,' Kirk said, in his most authoritative tone of voice. He put a hand on Spock's arm, stopping him from moving away. 'Are you or are you not engaged in a relationship – of a romantic nature – with the head nurse of this ship?'

Spock sighed. There was no logical reason to conceal the relationship, but he felt strangely self-conscious about admitting it to those who knew him.

'Yes, Captain. I am engaged in such a relationship,' he said eventually.

There was a brief moment of silence, during which Spock could feel his friend's mental burst of joy like sunshine around him.

'Mr Spock, I couldn't be happier,' Kirk said eventually. 'You deserve it – and she sure as hell does, after all these years.'

Spock nodded, declining to add any more to the subject.

'Captain, I assume you've passed on the outcome of our encounter with the Hornerian ship to the Vulcan government?' he asked as they continued down the corridor.

'I have indeed,' Kirk said in a tone of satisfaction. 'And they, in turn, have passed it on to the Vulcan Science Academy, who are currently broadcasting the news to all those people involved in the talks. They expect it to have a very positive effect on the argument for admission. They're going to reconvene the final meeting tomorrow, in another location, and have postponed the vote by two days.'

Spock nodded, then said seriously, 'I imagine there may be some involved with the talks who will actually be disappointed by this news.'

'A small minority, Spock,' Kirk said firmly. 'Most Vulcans want greater integration, I'm sure of it. After all, what logic is there to isolation? The planet would stagnate!'

'Vulcan managed perfectly well for thousands of years,' Spock reminded him pointedly. 'But you're right, Jim. Greater integration is best for my people. We have too great a habit of traditionalism – and as you say, that can lead to stagnation.'

He tightened his hand on Sacha's harness, pondering on the traditionalism that continued in his own family. Sometimes he could not fathom why his father had chosen to marry a human, considering his staunch adherence to the Vulcan way. What was it he had said en route to Babel? _*At the time, it seemed the logical thing to do_*. Yes, Sarek always attributed logic to all of his decisions. But, like most Vulcans, the decisions closest to their hearts were usually influenced by emotion. It was clear that Sarek loved his mother. That was why they had chosen to marry, and chosen to have a son despite the obstacles in their way. And Sarek's great, very human, sensitivity about being seen to be unVulcan had always ruled his behaviour to some extent. What was less Vulcan than marrying a human? What was less Vulcan than having your son involved with a human?

Spock sighed. Sarek must accept this relationship. In the face of Sarek's own marriage, he _*must_* accept Spock's similar choice. But getting Sarek to admit that acceptance was a different matter.

'Spock, you look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders!' Kirk said in response to the Vulcan's sigh. 'We've tied up this case of terrorism on Vulcan, we've probably set these talks back on a rational track. You, for the first time in your life, are involved in a relationship that has a chance of growing into something permanent – and you've still got plenty of your leave time left over. I imagine, by the way, that Nurse Chapel also has plenty of leave stacked up, which I'm sure McCoy would be happy to allot to her. Now, what's wrong?'

'Jim, do you recall what I said to you on Vulcan?' Spock asked. '_*My father is unsure of the benefit of friendship with humans_*.'

'Yes,' Kirk said slowly, immediately making the connection between that statement and Spock's current predicament. 'But, does Sarek know?'

'My parents were visiting Miss Chapel when I beamed down.'

'Ahh… Well, Spock, he's sure to come round. Isn't he?'

'I hope so,' Spock said honestly. 'I was wondering if some time spent in Miss Chapel's presence might help the situation.'

'I don't see how it can hurt,' Kirk shrugged. 'She's a very respectable girl, Spock.'

'I am about to beam down to talk to my parents,' Spock told him, the look on his face clearly indicating that he thought it a daunting task. 'Presuming I can gain permission for the transport, of course.'

'Well, they've relaxed the beaming restrictions,' Kirk told him, uncertain as to whether the dramatic cut in journey time would be good or bad news for the Vulcan. 'You should be able to beam down just outside the house now.'

'You want to take that dog down with you, Spock?' a voice hailed them from a few yards down the corridor.

Spock started, then quickly controlled his reaction. As preoccupied as he was, he had not noticed McCoy approaching, presumably on his way to Nurse Chapel's quarters.

'I would always rather take her,' Spock nodded. 'But it is impractical. You know that, Doctor.'

'Ah, well,' McCoy said, sounding extraordinarily pleased with himself. 'I've been working on a little something to help with that while you've been away, Spock. It's no good you having a guide dog if you can't take it with you into unusually hot or cold climates. I made your doggy there a coat, made of the same material as our environmental suits.'

'You've finished that?' Kirk asked in surprise, and Spock turned towards him with a raised eyebrow.

'You knew of this too, Captain?' he asked.

'Well, just that Bones was working on it,' Jim told him. 'But it was a surprise.'

'I wanted to be sure it worked,' McCoy explained. 'And it does. It should keep the majority of the heat off her, and since she's used to wearing the harness it shouldn't bother her too much. I tried it on her a few days back, and she barely seems to notice it.'

'I am indebted to you, Doctor,' Spock said sincerely. The dog was a lifeline to him, and being able to use her in a wider range of situations was a massive boon.

'We can go down to sickbay, and I'll get it set up for you,' McCoy told him. 'I'm just going to check on Christine – and I'll give her ribs a once-over with our bone knitter. We're less conservative than those Vulcan doctors, and I think I'll be able to set them pretty well while she's asleep.'

Spock nodded swiftly, resisting the urge to accompany the doctor into Christine's quarters to oversee her treatment.

'I will see you in sickbay, Doctor.'

******

When Spock arrived at his parents' house it was largely free of guests, most of them having gone to the Academy to aid in the clean-up operations after the bomb blast. His mother greeted him warmly at the front gates, but he could tell by her tone of voice that she was experiencing an odd mixture of happiness and reservation at the recent developments in her son's life.

'So Christine's back on the ship now?' she asked, continuing the conversation they had held via the comm system before Spock's beam-down.

Spock nodded briefly. 'She met the required recovery standards for checkout. She is under Dr McCoy's care now. He hopes to have eased her remaining injuries by the end of the day.'

'You must be glad, Spock,' his mother said, her first indirect reference to their relationship since the conversation in the hospital.

'The _Enterprise_ will not long be denied the services of an efficient officer,' Spock nodded.

'Oh, Spock,' Amanda said with indulgent disapproval. 'And I see you're not being denied the services of your dog now?' she asked in a brighter tone.

'Dr McCoy developed this protective coat for her,' Spock nodded, bending to touch the slick material that covered the dog's back. 'She should be able to stand the Vulcan heat as long as she is wearing it.'

'Well she looks cool enough,' Amanda said. 'But I bet she wouldn't say no to a bowl of water.'

'I imagine not,' Spock nodded. He had not noticed the dog panting particularly on beam-down. It was an encouraging sign. 'Mother, where is Sarek? I wanted to speak to him.'

'About Christine?' she asked him cautiously as they walked inside to the kitchen.

Spock hesitated, but there was no point in misdirecting his mother. He imagined that she had had quite enough of being the bulwark between his and Sarek's differences, but at the moment she was just as involved as they. He nodded, intent on releasing Sacha from her harness as his mother put a bowl of water down on the floor. The dog immediately began to drink with loud slurps. Spock pursed his lips, and straightened up. It was around food and drink that the dog most readily displayed its undisciplined nature.

'Sarek might not be back for a while,' his mother said in a hesitant tone. 'Your father went for a walk up to the Hanging Stone.'

'The Hanging Stone?' Spock repeated with a raised eyebrow.

The Hanging Stone was not the official name for the place – Spock wasn't sure he knew the real name – but it was a place he had often visited during his first eighteen years of life. Atop one of the rocky hills flanking the town, with a large, flat rock defying gravity by its perch on the edge of a cliff, it afforded a sweeping, magnificent view of the town below, whilst providing plenty of warm, sand-scoured boulders to sit upon and meditate in almost guaranteed privacy. He had not realised that Sarek also used the place for moments of reflection, but the area was large enough for any number of meditative Vulcans to retreat to in times of need.

'Your father's been going up there since he was a boy too,' his mother said with a smile. 'He never told you. He recognised that _*you_* needed it as your own private place just as much as he does.'

Spock nodded sparsely, registering that hint of Sarek's consideration for him but choosing not to dwell on it at the moment. Sarek was obviously deeply bothered by Spock's relationship with a human, and the sooner Spock could persuade him of its benefits, the better. He couldn't imagine that letting Sarek sit alone meditating on the drawbacks of such a relationship would help his position at all.

'I need to speak with him,' he said. 'I will join him up there.'

'I'll go change my shoes,' his mother said quickly.

'Mother,' Spock said quickly, putting out a hand to stop her. 'I have Sacha. I need to speak to Sarek alone.'

There was a brief, unhappy silence. Spock could feel his mother's need to speak, and her struggle to keep her thoughts to herself.

'How many times have I walked to the Hanging Stone?' Spock asked softly. 'In fact, I have walked there at night before now, with little more to guide me than memories and starlight. There is an easily discernible footpath for most of the way – the cane will pick out the hard stone from the surrounding sand. And I have Sacha. She will keep me safe, I promise.'

He crouched down beside the dog, touching his hand to her head. He had never dared initiate a full meld on the dog. It would be deeply unwise to mingle his mind with a mind so very different in intelligence and outlook. However, he was able to impress upon her the image of Sarek and the Hanging Rock as their destination, and this house as _*home_*.

'Besides, I still have my cell-com, and the way up to the stone is visible from the house almost all the way,' he reassured his mother, standing up. 'You may watch from the gate, if you wish.'

******

Spock picked his way cautiously through the rubble where smooth path gave way to untended natural terrain at the top of the hill. He had found the path easier to follow than he expected, but it was always unnerving trusting what he could not see, when each minute mistake could send him further and further off track. Every curve or step came just where he expected it to be, however, and it was only this loose boulder field at the top of the hill that proved unpredictable. Sacha could obviously see Sarek, and was leading Spock determinedly in the direction of the Hanging Stone, but before they reached it he heard the sound of his father approaching him, loose stones clacking and clattering underfoot.

'Spock, such an ascent was a foolish one to make alone,' his father said as he reached him, in a stern, impatient voice.

'Yet it was successful,' Spock pointed out. 'Sarek, allow me to speak with you,' he said, without preamble. 'You are obviously concerned about my relationship with Miss Chapel. It is logical that we discuss this issue.'

Sarek was silent for a moment, then said, 'As far as I was aware, you had no relationship.'

'Until a few days ago we were not as – close,' Spock conceded. 'But I have held her in my esteem for some time now, Sarek. The time was right.'

'Held her in your esteem,' Sarek murmured. 'Did you cherish such feelings at Koon-Ut-Kal-If-Fee?'

Spock hesitated, then said, 'I was not unaware of those feelings, no.'

'Then you have definitely chosen the human way over the Vulcan,' Sarek said in a low voice, sounding as if he had turned away.

'No, Sarek,' Spock said with a hint of impatience, shaking his head. 'No more than you have. My human blood is a result of _*your_* decision, Sarek, not mine,' he reminded him. 'And it is not a mark of shame. It is a representation of the relationship between you and my mother. I cannot be more Vulcan than I am. If you, a full Vulcan, a representative of our entire planet, can fall in love with a human woman, then why can't I?'

Sarek was silent, but Spock could feel that he had turned back towards him, and was regarding him, deep in thought. The hot, thin wind caressed his face as the silence continued. He could hear blowing sand striking his boots, and feel it on his hands and face. Even just the sounds and scents of this place brought a feeling of calm to his mind, without the awe-inspiring vista spreading out below him. Perhaps it was doing the same for Sarek.

'Then, you have logical reasons for this relationship?' Sarek asked eventually.

'I have many logical reasons,' Spock nodded.

'And, Spock – do you also have emotional ones?' Sarek asked in a lower, more insistent voice, finally touching a hand to his son's arm.

Spock raised an eyebrow at the warmth of feeling that came through that touch. He realised abruptly that Sarek was asking him that question in hope of an affirmative, not a negative.

'Yes, Sarek,' he said eventually. 'I – do care for her, in ways that do not bear rational scrutiny. I am not merely selecting a logical companion in my blindness. She – completes me.'

'Then it is well,' Sarek said slowly. There was a brief pause, and then he said sharply, 'Spock, your dog is investigating an _*inkrila_*.'

Spock stiffened. He had felt Sacha moving beside him, snuffling at something on the ground, but had thought little of it. The dog, like all dogs, spent an inordinately large amount of time investigating things that might prove edible. The _*inkrila_* was a small invertebrate, usually almost motionless, and looking something like a land-based sea anemone. It was absolutely harmless, having no sting or bite or any aggressive tendencies. Its only method of self-preservation lay in evolution. The _*inkrila_* had evolved a potent toxicity, and its would-be predators had evolved a complete aversion to it as a food source. But Sacha had evolved on another planet...

'Sacha, no! Drop it!' Spock snapped.

'She has swallowed it,' Sarek said in a tone of complete calm.

Spock clenched his hand on the harness.

'I will not let this happen again,' he said thinly, speaking more to himself than the Sarek.

He crouched down and touched a hand to Sacha's coat. The dog did not seem to be suffering any ill effects as yet, but he knew that it would not be long before that changed. He tried to think of a way to induce vomiting in her, but he could think of none with the resources at hand. If he tried to put his hand down her throat to provoke retching it was likely she would bite him.

'This is not I-Chaya, Spock,' Sarek said firmly, remembering.

'No,' Spock said stiffly, standing again. 'This is not a childhood pet. This is my guide. I rely on her for my freedom. We must get her to the ship.'

'A Vulcan Healer – ' Sarek began.

'Is not as well versed in human biology as McCoy – and Sacha is more similar to a human than she is to a Vulcan.'

'_*Spock_*,' Sarek said firmly, urgency giving the roughness of anger to his voice. 'You disregard my advice, my experience, my wisdom. You have never listened to me. Listen to me now. This creature has ingested a Vulcan poison. Our Healers have millenia of accumulated experience in dealing with such. I doubt McCoy has ever heard of _*inkrila_* poisoning, whereas there is a Healer living just a mile away with one hundred years of practice to draw upon.' He sealed his argument by lifting the dog in his arms, and saying, 'You may take my arm and follow me, or you may wait here. I do not intend to let your means of freedom die because you cannot separate the attitude of a child from the logic of an adult.'

Spock felt anger seethe in his chest, even overtaking the concern for Sacha that he was struggling to control. He had no option, though. With Sacha incapacitated he was dependent on his father. With a great effort he recognised the logic of the situation, accepting his helplessness, and the fact that his father was as unlikely to concede his point as he was to concede Sarek's. He could not waste time arguing. He took Sarek's arm, and followed him down the stone-flagged path.


	17. Chapter 17

17.

Spock could hear Sarek running ahead of him, his feet pounding on the hard path, his breath coming in sharp gasps at the unaccustomed exercise. Spock's concern was split between anxiety for Sacha, and worry for his own father since the heart trouble he had suffered only a few years earlier. Sacha was not a light burden to carry, and Spock doubted Sarek often had cause to exert himself to this level.

He moved swiftly after his father, concentrating hard on the sounds of his running feet, comparing the sounds and feel of his own feet and cane as he tried to follow. Sarek had insisted on Spock taking his guidance all the way down the rocky hillside, but as soon as the path levelled at the bottom he had left his son behind, quickening to a pace at which sight was very necessary. Spock knew where the Healer's house was, and he had a rough visual memory of the route that he must take – but it would be far easier to simply keep close enough to Sarek to be certain that he was heading in the right direction. The cane warned him of stumbling hazards, and he was able to follow almost at a jog.

A doorchime sounded some way away. Sarek's pounding footsteps had stopped, and Spock could hear the door opening, and words being exchanged between his father and the woman who had opened the door. And then the door closed again. Sarek had gone inside, and there were quiet, steady footsteps moving towards him. Spock slowed his own pace to a sedate walk. There was no logic in running now.

'Spock,' the woman said when she finally reached him. 'I have come to assist.'

Spock raised an eyebrow in curiosity. She sounded old – older than Sarek, old enough to be the consort of a Healer with over a hundred years of experience. She stood perhaps a foot shorter than him, and had walked with the careful footsteps of one not totally at ease in their movement. But that voice… He was certain that he had heard it once before.

'I recognise your voice,' he said slowly. 'But I think many years have passed…'

'T'Marn, wife of Healer Sendar,' she said in a level voice, touching fingers to his arm to guide him. 'You must have been five, or perhaps six, when your father brought you to us with suspected _k'hol_ berry poisoning.'

Spock paused momentarily, a sudden memory flashing into his mind of kneeling in what seemed to be an astonishingly large room, having innocently drunk the sweet fruit juice he had been offered, and then realising the betrayal as he began to vomit.

'I was four years old,' he recalled. 'I had not eaten the _k'hol_ berries. I was studying them. I noted that a small amount on the tongue was quite astringent, and deduced that they may be poisonous.'

'Yes,' the woman nodded. 'You showed talent in science even then. You also protested your innocence quite vociferously.'

'I had not perfected self-control at that point,' Spock replied rather distantly.

'You were four years old, Spock,' the woman said with a hint of humour in her voice. 'One would not expect you to have perfected self-control. I think, though, that you were better able than most your age.'

After a short period of silence, she continued, 'Your pursuit of science lead you to Starfleet, I hear – and eventually to blindness.'

'Blindness was caused by a toxic gas exploding and affecting my eyes,' Spock corrected her. 'I was attempting to diagnose a fault in a certain console aboard my ship. It had been rigged to explode. There was very little that was scientific about it.'

'I grieve with thee, Spock,' the woman said with all the emotional distance of a ritual phrase

'Grief is not necessary,' Spock replied.

Spock could feel her scrutiny. After a long moment she said, 'I wonder if that is true, Spock.'

Spock did not trust himself to reply. 'This is the house?' he asked as the woman turned to the right.

'Yes,' she said simply. 'Come inside, and I will enquire as to the condition of the creature.'

'She is a dog,' Spock supplied as he made his way up shallow stone steps into the cool of a house. 'An Earth animal. She acts as my guide.'

'Fascinating,' the woman said, with feeling. 'Quite different from a sehlat, I imagine.'

'Quite different,' Spock nodded. Did the aged forget nothing? Did the woman remember his irrational attachment to I-Chaya, and that creature's fate? 'Sacha is rather more useful than a sehlat to me.'

'Sendar is an excellent healer,' T'Marn said. She did not inflect her statement with the tone of reassurance that a human would use, but Spock understood precisely the same meaning as if she had. 'There is a chair in front of you, Spock. Sit, and we will await the results of his work.'

Spock sat in the chair, assessing his surroundings. An average sized room for a Vulcan home, but perhaps furnished more like a doctor's waiting room than a Vulcan sitting room. The floor was hard and smooth – easily cleanable – and the chair that he sat in, while comfortable, had a feeling of economy about it. There were, perhaps, two other people in the room besides him and T'Marn, but they remained silent. He wondered briefly if they were irritated at their appointments being delayed by the arrival of an alien animal. No matter. Sacha's case was urgent, regardless of her species. They would simply have to wait.

After a few minutes a door opened, and Sarek entered the room. Spock turned his head towards him, disguising any feelings of impatience to learn the outcome of Sacha's treatment.

'Spock,' Sarek said in a low voice, sitting down beside him. 'Sendar has done what he can for the animal. He has caused her to void her stomach contents, and given her kylartine and asparnine to treat the symptoms of the poisoning. He expects her to recover fully.'

Spock tightened his hands on the arms of his chair, beginning to rise to his feet – but Sarek's hand on his stopped him.

'There is no logic in disturbing her,' he said. 'She is quite unconscious. I have contacted your vessel and arranged for her to be transferred to the care of your sickbay. I suggest we return home, and let your mother know what has happened.'

Spock nodded. There was no logic in standing at the bedside of an unconscious animal. Perhaps he wanted to reassure himself of her condition by touching her, or simply being near to her – but again, there was no logic in that. Sarek had undoubtedly spoken the truth. His reaction of wanting to see for himself, so to speak, was a purely human one. Of course, to some extent Sarek's need to speak to Amanda was more human than Vulcan. A call by communicator was all that was needed. But Amanda was human, and as such required a certain degree of emotional thought behind any interaction with her. Spock concealed his sudden feeling of amusement. Sarek, behind all of his stern control and Vulcan discipline, _*understood_* humans – perhaps better than Spock himself did. He understood how to love a human, and care for her, and progress through life with her without alienating her by withholding affection and human consideration. Perhaps, after all, there was much he could learn from his father about the benefits of friendship with humans.

******

'I couldn't have done anything for her, Spock,' McCoy acknowledged three hours later as he, Spock, Sarek and Amanda walked down the _Enterprise_ corridors to sickbay. 'I don't have the knowledge of Vulcan toxins, and I don't have the necessary antidotes.'

Spock nodded gravely. Here on the ship it was easier to manage without Sacha, but he felt her absence keenly, since he rarely spent time without her here even when he did not technically need her. There was always the potential of an emergency, and one of the conditions of having the dog was not leaving her alone for prolonged periods.

'Fortunately,' Sarek put in, 'Healer Sendar did.'

Spock exhaled, nodding briefly. 'I admit that you were right, Sarek,' he said with disguised reluctance. 'Attending the Healer was the correct choice.'

Sacha had reached aid just in time, and although the prescribed remedies were calculated for Vulcan patients, the aged Healer had been able to adjust them suitably for a creature from a different planet. Sacha was unwell, and it would take her some days to recover – but she was not dead.

'My God!' McCoy exclaimed. It was obvious he was grinning. 'It's a miracle, Spock! You, admit you were wrong?'

'I did not admit I was wrong,' Spock said pedantically. 'I admitted that Sarek was right.'

'Then surely, logically – '

'Logic is not your forte, Doctor,' Spock said witheringly. 'I suggest confining yourself to your charms and potions. They suit you very well.'

'You just know I'm right,' McCoy grunted.

Spock raised an eyebrow. He could sense his mother's amusement, to his right, and on the other side Sarek's bewilderment at what must seem like a quite unnecessary argument. His parents had beamed up with him ostensibly because his mother was concerned about Sacha's progress – but he could not help the feeling that Sarek was at least as concerned as Amanda about the dog. His father had certainly travelled swiftly down the hillside with the heavy dog in his arms. It was his swiftness and determination that had saved Sacha's life. Spock had discovered during his time on Vulcan that without Sacha his life either became infinitely more complicated, or his dependence on outside assistance grew to intolerable proportions.

Spock's mother was walking very close to him in the corridor, her fingers occasionally just touching his arm as if she was trying to restrain herself from helping him. His parents had instinctively flanked him as they left the transporter room, just as they had when he was a small boy in strange places or crowds. He found their stance pleasantly nostalgic, despite the illogic of his aged parents attempting automatically to protect their adult son. And protect him against what? Both of them knew now that the treatment for his blindness had to be halted. Both of them, he sensed, felt dismay at that news, and wanted to give him comfort and protection whether he needed it or not. But there was little that he needed protecting from on the ship – or off the ship, for that matter. It was increasingly obvious to him that his parents were finding his blindness almost as hard to adjust to as he himself had found it. Perhaps a fear of that circumstance was what had stopped him from visiting them for so long. And now he had visited them, it was obvious that there was a long way to go in convincing them that he was, in fact, all right – or as all right as he could allow himself to be when he still found it so hard to accept the permanence of his disability.

Therein lay the problem, he realised. He had found himself growing closer to accepting that permanence when the disruptor treatment had been discovered. Then he had been given hope, and it was very much easier to remain sanguine about his condition when there was the promise of his sight gradually being returned to normal. And now… How did he balance acceptance with the need to seek out a new or evolved treatment? How could he be content when he was constantly looking for ways to alter his situation?

He sighed almost silently. Sarek would recommend meditation. Jim would recommend an intense workout in the gym, something to work out his frustration. His mother would probably, half-jokingly, recommend a good cry. Perhaps all those things would work, to some extent. And Christine… He thought that Christine would probably take his hand, and embrace him to soothe his mental turmoil, and recommend making such a search as only a Vulcan or one in love could make, of an intensity impossible to more mundane minds, to find a remedy. And if they failed… she would take him in her arms again, and love him.

Perhaps, then, that was what he should do. What better team than one of the finest scientific minds in Starfleet, and a medical practitioner alongside him?

Spock nodded to no one but himself. He had made his decision with remarkable swiftness, but he had no doubt that it was the right one. All he needed to do now was to moot the idea to Christine.

'Here we go, Spock,' McCoy said, cutting into his thoughts as they turned left through the sickbay doors. 'Watch your step now.'

'The place is still in disorder?' Spock asked, coming to an uncertain halt and taking his cane from his hip.

The room he was in smelt overwhelmingly of new paint and cleaning products, instead of the usual mixture of medicines and antiseptic. It was, he had to admit, quite disorienting to be in such a familiar place when it presented itself to his senses with such unfamiliar scents and sounds. Even the usual echoes were altered by the rearrangement of furniture.

'Mostly things are pushed into the centres of the rooms, or they've been removed for now,' the doctor told him. 'A couple'a things are dismantled for renovation, so in some places they're strewn on the floor, I'm afraid. But we'd got the first of the private rooms straightened out, and your dog's in there. All that cleaning, and then we turned the place into a veterinary surgery,' he grumbled.

Spock nodded, choosing to ignore the complaint.

'May I take your arm then, McCoy?' he asked, reaching out a hand. He could sense both his mother's and his father's desire to help him, but he far preferred a guide who was used to assisting him. McCoy was nothing if not professional in his guidance, his doctor's instinct overcoming all of his natural carelessness.

'There you are,' the doctor murmured, coming alongside the Vulcan. In these situations all of the veneer of hostility and competition seemed to fall away, and he became the model of friendship towards the Vulcan.

The sickbay was entirely different from its usual layout, if the maze-like route that McCoy took was anything to go by. Instead of striding from one end of each room to the other Spock found himself taken on a series of twists and turns, slipping past anonymous piles of furniture or equipment, some seeming to reach waist-height, and others, more disturbingly, scattered on the floor at ankle-height. Understandably, the arrangements had obviously not been made with blindness in mind. Spock would usually have no reason to enter the place whilst it was undergoing renovation.

'Doctor, is this chaos representative of the human medical mind?' he asked acerbically.

McCoy harrumphed. 'It's representative of red-shirted grunts,' he muttered. 'They've broken very little, I have to admit – but I can't believe they understand the delicacy of half this equipment.'

'I'm sure the hours or recalibration will keep you well occupied,' Spock said.

McCoy harrumphed again. 'I was planning on _*you_* helping me, Spock.'

`'This is the private room, is it not?' Spock asked, choosing to ignore McCoy's suggestion. He tilted his head as they walked through the door, certain that he could sense Christine in the room.

'Miss Chapel,' he said, stepping forward. 'Are you well?'

'Dr McCoy healed the remnants of the rib injuries, and gave me something to counteract the painkiller not long after you left the ship,' she said. 'I came to check on Sacha when I heard. She's fine,' she added quickly. 'Just a little dopey.'

Spock let go of McCoy's arm and moved confidently across the room towards her. Somehow being near Christine gave him a very low level awareness of his surroundings. This must be the beginnings of a true mental link – something he had never experienced before with the warmth of affection and love tempering it. It was nothing like that cold, clear, thread-like connection he had experienced with T'Pring. This must be something of what his parents felt. No wonder his mother had been driven to torrid emotionalism when Sarek had been stricken with heart trouble.

'She's in her bed, on the floor,' Christine told him as he reached her side. 'Just in front of you.'

Sacha stirred at the sight of the Vulcan, and whimpered faintly. Spock knelt down close to her, murmuring as he reached out to her, 'Foolish creature.'

McCoy smiled at the level of affection that he heard in those two muttered words.

'What d'you say to the idea that we get that dog a muzzle?' he asked Spock lightly.

Spock did not turn from the dog. 'I have never liked the idea,' he said, 'but I believe it would be to her benefit.'

He touched his hands to her head, running his fingers over her silk ears and the firmness of her skull, and then down the shorter fur of her nose, until she stirred again to weakly lick his hand. The last time he had touched her, just before Sarek had run on ahead with her at the bottom of the hill, she had been almost unconscious.

'You are certain she is improving, Doctor?' he asked, still not turning.

'I'm absolutely sure,' McCoy nodded. 'She'll be right as rain in a few days.'

Spock nodded, then stood up and turned around, aware of a certain feeling of unease in the room. Christine was still standing very near to him, uncertain about how to interact with him. The level of interest emanating from McCoy was almost tangible.

'Yes, Doctor,' Spock said in a tone of great patience. 'Miss Chapel and I are – involved. I don't believe the subject requires any further discussion, however.'

'Any _*further_*?' McCoy began incredulously. 'Spock, you've been tight-lipped as an – '

'Thank you, Doctor,' Spock nodded. He turned toward his parents. 'Sarek, Mother, once we have finished up here, would you allow Miss Chapel and me to beam down together to the house? I believe it would be beneficial for us all to spend some time in each other's company, and Christine is eager to see mother's garden.'

After a brief hesitation Sarek stepped forward.

'We would be honoured by your presence, Miss Chapel,' he said in a formal tone. Then, in a warmer, conspiratorial tone, he added, 'I am often caused to rethink my preconceptions by one human woman. I'm beginning to see that the trait is not only confined to my wife.'

'Well, thank you, Ambassador Sarek,' Christine said in a happy, but slightly confused tone. Spock felt her unease, and touched a hand to her arm reassuringly.

'_*Sarek_* will be sufficient,' Sarek said softly.

'Sarek,' she repeated. 'Thank you.'

'Sarek, Dr McCoy promised us a tour of the new sickbay facilities,' Amanda said suddenly, stepping forward.

'I did?' McCoy asked in bewilderment. Then, quickly he said, 'Oh, yes – I did. The – er – the paint's a slightly different shade. Did you notice?'

Spock raised an eyebrow, but he did not protest as the doctor ushered his parents out of the room. He turned back to Sacha, kneeling beside her again and stroking her back softly. Christine joined him on the floor.

'You're feeling better?' he asked her as she knelt beside him. 'Well enough to beam down?'

'Oh, quite well enough,' she smiled. 'As long as you're happy leaving Sacha.'

'She is under good care here,' Spock nodded. 'My presence cannot benefit her.'

He sat in silence again, stroking his hand over the dog's fur, appearing to be deep in thought.

Finally, somewhat tentatively, he said, 'Christine, I have come to a decision. Perhaps it is a hasty decision – but so much has been changed by the cessation of the treatment for my blindness. I – intend to request an extended leave, of some months. I want to accomplish two things. The first is to spend time on Vulcan, with an instructor in the mind rules. I have found it – increasingly difficult – to control my frustration at my blindness, and I very much need to deal with those emotions. After that point – I intend to do all I can to find a means of restoring my sight.'

There was a long silence. Finally Christine said in an uncertain voice, 'That's – I think that's a very – sensible course of action. But – where do you see me in this, Spock?'

Spock allowed himself a small smile. 'I was hoping that you would apply for the same period of leave. I would do everything in my power to assist its approval. I don't necessarily imagine being absent from the _Enterprise_ for a period of more than a few months. Rather, I was hoping for permission for a relaxation of my duties while on board, to allow me to concentrate on research after my time on Vulcan.'

'We'd live on Vulcan?' she asked. 'In your parents' house?'

Spock shook his head. 'On Vulcan, yes, but I would rather rent a small property – perhaps somewhere at altitude or further north where the temperature will be more comfortable for both you and Sacha. I'm sure my parents would welcome us, but – I don't desire to live in their pockets, as you would say.'

Christine was silent again for a few moments as she considered his plans. Finally, she nodded.

'I would very much like to be with you on Vulcan,' she said, 'and to help you in finding a treatment too. As long as the leave can be approved, you can count on me being there.'

Spock nodded briefly. 'Then there is nothing to hinder making arrangements,' he said. 'If possible, it would be sensible to have the period begin while we are here at Vulcan.'

'Yes.'

She was silent again, but after a few moments she laughed abruptly. Spock turned to her questioningly.

'Oh, it's just – a week ago I would never have dreamed of this,' she explained, seeing his curiosity at her outburst. 'We didn't even have a relationship. And now we're planning to go live together on Vulcan…'

'That is not quite true,' Spock pointed out. 'We _*did_* have a relationship. I have known you for some years now.'

'A different kind of relationship, though,' she said.

'Was it?' Spock asked, raising an eyebrow. 'I – believe in many ways the feelings were there. We simply had not acted upon them.'

If he had been able to see, he would have seen the look of astonishment mingled with love in Christine's eyes. She had never dreamt that Spock had returned her feelings for a long period of time. Spock, oblivious to her look, laid a hand briefly on Sacha's head, then got to his feet.

'I will go now and make a petition to the captain for the leave,' he said. 'I've found him to be highly persuasive in his conversations with the upper echelons of Starfleet. I've no doubt he will manage to arrange something satisfactory.'

******

'Well, Spock,' Kirk said quietly to the Vulcan after Spock had explained his intentions, and his reasoning behind them. 'I can't say I'm happy to let you go. You're my friend, and you're a very valuable officer. But I suppose you know your own mind. I know this setback in your treatment was a huge blow to you.'

Spock flexed his damaged hands, and nodded. 'I don't believe I'd realised quite how much store I was putting in the treatment,' he said. 'I was, in essence, believing myself to be a sighted person simply awaiting the restoration of my sight, despite my – comfort – in my present situation. I've been reminded that in fact at the moment I am a blind person – nothing more, nothing less.'

'I'd hardly say _*nothing more_*,' Kirk protested.

Spock shook his head. 'I am not indulging in self-deprecation, Jim, or defining myself by my disability. I mean that no matter what promises the future may hold, at present I am blind. It is the acceptance of that fact that I need help with.'

'I'd need to get McCoy to produce a medical report to that effect,' Kirk warned him. Spock could hear him accessing the computer and calling up data as he spoke. 'It would have to be medical leave – you've just taken such a large chunk of regular leave.'

'I don't imagine that would be a problem.'

'And Nurse Chapel…' Kirk trailed off awkwardly.

'She has a large amount of leave time accumulated,' Spock reminded him. 'And, although her services are invaluable, as a nurse she is not difficult to replace for a short period.'

'That's true, I know,' Kirk nodded. 'And to be brutally honest, Spock, I'm happier to see you go with her than going alone. I know you have your own quarters here, but you haven't truly lived alone since the accident.'

Spock bowed his head in silent acknowledgement. While he felt sure that he was capable of a large amount of the skills needed for independent living, it was true that he had not yet lived anywhere where assistance was not an intercom call away. His laundry was all done by the simple method of tossing clothes into the basket in the bathroom and waiting for the scheduled laundry collection, and they were replaced in the correct places in his drawers by a most efficient yeoman. The majority of his meals were produced by sliding a disc into a replicator slot, and the small stock of food products and toiletries he kept in his room were marked with Braille before leaving ship's stores. Despite this he still found himself once or twice a week apologetically calling Jim through into his room and asking for help of one kind or another. He had not attempted grocery shopping, or anything but the most simple forms of cooking, alone since his rehabilitation course.

'Do you believe you will be able to finalise the decision before the ship is due to leave Vulcan?' he asked.

'I'll do my best,' Kirk promised. 'Besides, you've got a little while of your original leave time left – you're quite free to stay on here until then. And Miss Chapel's leave won't be nearly as complicated to arrange. Leave it with me, Spock,' he said, turning his computer screen away from him and regarding the Vulcan. 'McCoy will probably call you to arrange a consultation at some point, but you're quite free to go back and enjoy your leave until then.'

'Thank you, Jim,' Spock said sincerely, rising to his feet. He turned to go, then turned back briefly, saying, 'I truly do not intend a long absence – certainly not a permanent one. My place is here – you know that.'

'I know that, Spock,' Kirk nodded, getting to his feet himself and patting the Vulcan on the arm. Despite Spock's assurances he felt an odd sadness at the idea of this parting. It was as if Spock was finally admitting defeat. In his own mind he renewed his intention to search without tiring until he found a way to remedy the Vulcan's blindness. Surely with so many determined people intent on the search it would not prove impossible? McCoy had brought the dead back to life before. The sight of one's eyes could not be so great a challenge…


	18. Epilogue

Epilogue

'Are you happy, Spock?' Amanda asked her son quietly, as they sat together in the cooling evening.

Kirk had called Spock less than half an hour ago to tell him that leave had been approved for both him and Chapel. They were intending to beam back to the ship later in order to organise those things they would need for their prolonged stay. Spock had hardly expected his few weeks of leave on Vulcan to become such an extended and convoluted affair. For now, however, while Christine was embroiled in a discussion with the Vulcans about the recent events at the Academy, he had come to spend a few quiet minutes with his mother in the peace of her rose garden.

Spock exhaled at his mother's question, turning his cane in his hands. She had not spoken until now, but he had been able to sense her desire to speak for some minutes.

'Is that a question to ask a Vulcan, mother?' he replied.

'It's a question to ask my son. It's a question to ask _*you_*, Spock,' she said, touching a hand to his. 'As you sit here, with a woman that you cherish just inside the house, with your relationship with your father better than it's been in twenty years.'

'And with the certainty of blindness weighing upon me,' Spock reminded her. 'I ask you again – is that a question to ask me?'

'Yes,' she insisted. 'It is. I've seen you over the past few weeks. You're proven to me that you can be happy despite your blindness. You've been shaken by this news – but I think you *_can*_ be happy.'

Spock placed the cane carefully on the seat beside him, and gave his mother a hint of smile.

'I think perhaps I can,' he nodded. 'Hence my double resolve, to address my – emotional inconsistencies – here on Vulcan, and to renew my efforts to discover a solution to my blindness. But the former _*must_* be done before I can dedicate myself to the latter. I must reconcile myself to my blindness while I have no certainty of regaining my sight. I have to know that, should my search fail, I will be able to live my life with equanimity.'

There was a moment of silence, and then his mother leaned across and swiftly kissed the tip of his ear. Spock turned his head, startled at the sudden, seemingly motiveless demonstration of affection.

'Mother – ' he began.

'I have that right,' she told him, smiling. 'I'm your mother. And I can see through all of that so-Vulcan façade, and all of your logic and duty, and tell when you need a little human reassurance. I hope Christine can do that too.'

Spock inclined his head.

'I believe that she can,' he said. 'I believe that I can, too,' he added. 'Are _*you_* happy, mother?'

There was a brief hesitation, before she said, 'Of course I am, Spock. I'm getting my little boy back home for a little longer.'

'I am hardly a little boy,' Spock corrected her.

She laughed softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. 'I look at you sometimes and wonder where my baby went,' she said musingly. 'That little baby who used to cling to me for protection against the wide world. Then I wonder where my little boy went, and my troubled teenager. But other times I look at you, and I see all of them, all in you.'

'And are you happy?' Spock persisted. It made him unaccountably uncomfortable to have her talk of him in such a way. He had tried very hard to distance himself from the child he once was.

'Yes, Spock, I'm happy,' she told him honestly. 'I won't pretend I can think of your blindness without regret. I hate to think of anything that hurts you or holds you back. But I am happy. I'm content with my life, with my husband, and with my son.'

Spock nodded. He was momentarily struck with a curiosity to know what his life would have been like if his parents hadn't decided that the birth of one successful child was the logical place to stop. What would his siblings have been like…?

'Come on,' his mother said, touching his arm. 'It's time we went back inside. I think T'Mir's taken Christine under her wing, but it doesn't seem fair to leave her alone in a room full of Vulcans for too long.'

'She is not averse to Vulcan company,' Spock pointed out.

'Perhaps not,' Amanda conceded, 'but I have supper to prepare for eight people, plus Captain Kirk and Dr McCoy. I was hoping you and Christine could give me some help in the kitchen.'

'Of course,' Spock nodded. 'You're certain you're happy for Miss Chapel to stay on here with me after the ship leaves?' he asked as he stood. He took her arm despite barely needing to do so. 'It will only be until we find alternative accommodation.'

'You know you don't need to find somewhere else to stay,' his mother protested, putting her free hand on his as they began to make their way back through the garden, brushing against scented blossoms as they moved.

'Yes, I know that,' Spock nodded. 'But you understand my reasons.'

'Yes, I do,' she smiled. 'And we're quite happy for you both to stay until you find a house. When our guests have gone I'll put you in one of the guest rooms, if you don't mind an unfamiliar room? We could move a double into yours, of course…'

'That is not necessary,' Spock reassured her. 'You've noticed over the past weeks, have you not, that I am quite capable of managing despite my blindness?'

'Yes, I have noticed that,' she nodded. 'I'm very proud of you, Spock. Sarek is too, even if he won't say it.'

'I have done what is necessary to maintain a certain standard of living. And an unfamiliar room will be no problem,' Spock said, glossing over her emotional statement.

'Yes, I suppose if you can defeat interplanetary terrorists and set the progress of world-wide discussions back on track practically single-handed you can adjust to a new set of bearings,' his mother admitted with a hint of mischief. 'Sarek tells me that we're pretty much assured of a vote for alien admission. I think the shock of all of this violence has actually helped to cement a unity against the terrorists' objectives.'

'There is a certain pleasing irony in that,' Spock replied. 'Although you can hardly use the phrase 'single-handed', mother. A very large amount of Starfleet force was instrumental in sealing the terrorists' defeat, not to mention help from native Vulcans such as T'Pring.'

'T'Pring! I meant to tell you. We had a call from T'Pring earlier,' his mother said, glancing sideways at her son as she spoke. 'She wanted to take her leave of you.'

Spock nodded. Discussing T'Pring with his mother was a little like discussing the other protagonist in a difficult break-up. By the inflection his mother put on T'Pring's name it was obvious that Amanda would not easily forgive her for rejecting her son and endangering his life.

'A curiously human desire,' Spock said. 'No matter. I will return her call later.'

'Well, I told her you were staying on,' his mother said, almost apologetically. 'She – er – announced her intention of paying you a visit. She said she was interested to meet Christine properly after her introduction at VanAhr.'

Spock's eyebrow rose. T'Pring was, indeed, a fascinating character. Her desire was not, he was certain, to take leave of him, but to satiate a curiosity over his chosen human partner.

'In that case, perhaps I would be best cancelling my leave,' Spock said, with the kind of perfectly straight face that only a Vulcan could achieve.

'Oh, Spock – ' Amanda began, then slapped him lightly on the hand when she realised that he was joking. 'Well, I don't envy Christine the meeting, anyway,' she said with feeling.

'Miss Chapel is quite capable of holding her own,' Spock told her. 'You seem to believe she requires special protection from encounters with Vulcans, mother. I hope you don't include me in that bracket?'

'I don't bracket you with anyone, Spock,' his mother said affectionately. 'You're my son. You're quite unique. You're perfect, walking, living proof that people like the Hornerians shouldn't triumph – and won't triumph. Isolation stagnates, while you – '

'Continue,' Spock murmured. 'I – continue. It is only logical.'

'Beautifully, blessedly logical,' his mother smiled, impulsively kissing him again as they went in through the door. 'And I wouldn't have it any other way.'


End file.
